


God Touched

by NotYetWritten, The Calling Comes to All (Aleanbh)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence, Cullen/Lavellan - Freeform, Dreamer Lavellan, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Muteness, Neurodiversity, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retelling, Rite of Tranquility, Romance, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, This thing is going to be massive, Trespasser Spoilers, Two Lavellans, solas/lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6829402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotYetWritten/pseuds/NotYetWritten, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleanbh/pseuds/The%20Calling%20Comes%20to%20All
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The pages of this book-memory? warn of a terrible danger, a wolf with slavering black jaws and pits for eyes. The Evanuris stand in a ring around it, as if preventing it from attacking.</i><br/> <br/>"Beware the forms of Fen'Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their spirits. He will offer advice that seems fair, but turns slowly to poison. Remember the price of treason, and keep in your heart the mercy of your gods!"<br/>---<br/>In many worlds, being touched by a god is seen as a blessing. In Thedas? It should be considered a curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare Sonata

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a fic that I was working on by myself until my lovely friend came along and added WAY more to it than I could ever begin to thank her for. <3 Basically just the two of us mashing all the things we want to see in fanfictions into one story and trying to fill as many kinkmeme prompts as possible along the way.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"O Falon'Din_  
>  Lethanavir--Friend to the Dead  
> Guide my feet, calm my soul,  
> Lead me to my rest."

_ Blessed Creators, he has so many eyes... _

The Dread Wolf used to plague Thenera Lavellan's nighttime wanderings when she was nothing more than a bare-faced child. Her most recent encounter with the Lord of Tricksters was just prior to receiving the markings of the Friend of the Dead. To have the frightening beast materialize after thirteen years of relative peace shook the Dalish elf to her core. The gleaming blue-black fur hid a maw of wicked fangs and crimson eyes that stretched as far as the eye could see. It grew so large it threatened to devour the alien landscape of the Beyond. 

In the dreamscapes of her youth, Thenera caught only glimpses of the monstrous wolf at the edges of a tree line or hidden within shadows. Patient, it stalked her but would never approach or outright threaten. As she grew older, and her control over her dreams became stronger, she was able to banish the creature with nothing more than a thought. Now the shapeless mass of ebony grew to encase her as every one of those malevolent red eyes turned to skewer her.  _ Wolf the People may call him, _ she thought to herself.  _ But this is something far worse. _

"Be gone, demon." Thenera's voice was steady even as her body trembled. Her left hand throbbed as it never had before. Glancing down past the long strands of silver hair that fell around her face, she saw a web of what appeared to be emerald veins streaking across her palm and steadily climbing up her forearm. The mark flared to life, surging up towards her shoulder as the pulsing pain turned to shards of glass grinding under her skin. "What have you done to me?!"

" _ I _ did nothing," the darkness hissed. "T'was you who called out to me,  _ da'len _ ." A deep chuckle reverberated through the elven woman when it pressed closer, crawling over Thenera's skin. "Your face is claimed by Falon’Din, yet it was not his magic you thought to wield. Curious."

The great mass of the Dread Wolf revolved around her, crimson eyes ever transfixed upon the green brand in the palm of her hand.

"I did not call you!" she cried, terrified. The whispers from her childhood echoed in her mind, and a lance of panic tore through her chest. "I want nothing that belongs to you!"

"The magic you bear is familiar," the monster replied. "You wield it clumsily, a child reaching beyond their grasp for powers meant for elders." A snarling canine maw formed from the darkness, jaws snapping shut around her wrist. Thenera screamed in agony and Fen'Harel sounded almost amused. "Did you really think one such as you could control it?"

The magic in her hand erupted in fiery torment and Thenera would have fallen to her knees save for the Wolf's jaws holding her aloft. Emerald light spilled between the beast's fangs and when a tongue lapped along the brand, the elf nearly blacked out from the pain of it. The skin of her palm parted under its probing tongue, sliding inside her flesh and sending lances of white hot pain into the very marrow of her bones. Gritting her teeth, Thenera bit back a shriek while the Dread Wolf tasted the strange magic that threatened to devour her. Abruptly, the pain vanished. The ebony mass grew eerily silent before recoiling abruptly.

"This cannot be." The creature sounded confused. The darkness rotated around her like a maelstrom as the canine maw howled, wet with her blood. It sounded at once confused and enraged. "No! This is not how it was supposed to happen!"

As quickly as it began, Thenera was released. She collapsed into a heap on the ground, shaking like a leaf caught in a hurricane.

The Wolf's many eyes finally turned their gaze away from her, staring instead at the giant emerald vortex that scarred the heavens. The shadows slowly began to retract until the void-like abomination shifted into a masculine elvhen figure seemingly crafted from smoke. All that remained of the fearsome beast was the Dread Wolf's many eyes. The aura of hostility and simmering rage that overwhelmed Thenera just moments ago was gone when he approached her. Even still, she shrank away from him. 

Fen’Harel took a knee before her and gently grasped her left wrist. Thenera flinched, expecting the hellfire to reignite, but the slender fingers only brushed the length of her palm. Icy magic flowed from his fingertips to disappear inside the emerald veins. The throbbing pain subsided and the lines slowly receded until only a small scar on her palm remained. After a few heartbeats with no further torment, she dared to glance up at the Great Wolf. Fen'Harel possessed no consistent features save narrowed scarlet eyes, staring at her curiously. The shadows shaping his face evolved even as she looked upon him. Unlike before, there was no malevolence in the god's regard. Only a deep sorrow.

"And so the wheel of fate turns," he said softly. His voice changed; it was no longer a primal snarl, instead soft and accented in a way that reminded her of an old  _ hahren. _ "It seems I must reassess my plans." The Dread Wolf lifted his gaze from Thenera's hand to her face before releasing her and stepping away. "What shall become of you, I wonder?"

"I...don't understand."

"It is not for you to understand,  _ da'len. _ " The shadow turned away from her, sounding weary. "Wake up."


	2. Everything Has a Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silentir
> 
> Referred to as "Silence" in the common parlance, the constellation Silentir is historically attributed to Dumat, the Old God of Silence and leader of the ancient Tevinter pantheon. The depiction of the constellation, however, is often debated. Some depict a dragon in flight, while others (also the most common modern depictions) show a man carrying a horn and a wand. Some scholars believe these represented scales, which would point to this constellation being a supplantation of the elven Mythal, but nothing indicates this to be more than speculation.  
>  _—From A Study of Thedosian Astronomy by Sister Oran Petrarchius_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalen's backstory was a mash-up of inspiration between this prompt (http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/7357.html?thread=25580221#t25580221) asking for a mute F!Hawke and this one (http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=51876981#t51876981) asking for Inquisitor who was a slave. Neither fill is fully met by this story, but hopefully it is a concept that makes things more interesting and not too snow-flakey.

The air was grey with white ash and black snow.  Everything burned and all around Lalen drifted the lost, deafened in the confusion.  The Temple of Sacred Ashes was a campfire miles wide vomiting smoke and ruin into the sky.

She climbed to a position that seemed to be upright only to realize that she remained on her back and only made circles in the scattered offal.  Her ears rang and there were tears frozen to her cheeks.  At some point she had wept for her friend Thenera, maybe as she stared at the sky, maybe as soon as she was knocked from her feet.  She brushed the moisture from her eyes to more clearly see the heavens cracked open high above her.

But now was not a time to mourn.

The world bled transparent green fog to the ground below, and where the droplets touched the ground, creatures twisted forth.  Demons.  The Fade hemorrhaged into reality here.  Lalen knew of no magic that could cause such a massive explosion, let alone one powerful enough to break the Veil - but her time in the Circle had been short.  Other mages would know more.  Right now, there were things to do.

A sword lay near and she twisted fingers around the steel to pull it close.  It was not an ideal crutch, but it helped her navigate her feet to the right stance.  She stood slowly, shakily, and peered up at the horizon.  The Conclave was broken.  Mages and Templars would not find peace...but who would wish that outcome?

She stumbled towards the heart of the blast, to where chaotic fighting had broken.  Screams were starting to break through the ringing in Lalen’s ears and she followed them to where no help had yet come.  A small bloody group desperately tried to limp past a shadowed form. 

The sword felt heavy in her hands, but she had no other weapon at hand and could not risk showing her magic with so many templars around.  So the elf drove the shade back as a warrior would: away from the wounded, away from those unfamiliar with combat and towards the grouping of silver armor and treated leather.  An arrow finally felled the creature, although it did not come from any bow Lalen had ever seen.  The dwarf holding it moved on to fight a wraith so her look at it was brief, but the brace appeared to be oriented horizontally and situated atop a larger mechanism that held a function she could only guess at.  She would have to look around for one on the field. There were enough dead bodies not using their weapons anymore that if they were some sort of dwarven bow, she would easily find one.

Lalen moved off towards a creature of pure flame terrorizing the same group as before further down the path.  This was a rage demon - probably more powerful than she was able to handle but certainly more than the battered group could fight.  Her borrowed blade was already beginning to tire her aching body as she raised it in defense.  There was no way she could slay the thing now spitting fire into the cold around her, but if she could hold it off long enough for the injured survivors to get free, she could possibly freeze it solid out of sight.

_ Follow me,  _ she willed it, backing towards the charred ruins of the temple and away from the chaos of wounded.  Her pants caught fire as it got too close and she quickened her pace to gain enough lead to calmly put the flames out in the snow.  Her heart remained steady in her chest as it always did.

“This way!” a male voice called from her right and she adjusted the angle of her backpedaling towards the voice.  The demon followed, wholly focused on her, straight into the center of a group of Chantry muscle.

She remained, stock still, as they dispatched it, willing the templars not to notice her, willing herself to disappear into the haze of ash and green of melting sky.

“You’re bleeding,” the same voice said evenly from behind her.

_ Not invisible.   _ Lalen did not turn to look for fear of letting the armored men and women around her gain the upper hand.  Her careful watch did not falter until she felt a hand touch her wrist.  Immediately, she jerked it away and tightened her grip on the weapon at hand, only to find the dwarf with the curious bow standing before her.

He was not dressed for winter weather.  A linen tunic dyed crimson lay open beneath a leather duster.  Neither would be enough to stave off the cold.  His accent placed him from the Free Marches, but dwarves could be neither mages nor templars.  His presence this far from home made no sense.

“Are you alright, hero?”  His soothing insistence was distressing.  Lalen had done nothing to draw his attention.  Her fingers bled from where she had drawn the sword to herself, but she held it as if it was not completely alien and at no point had she spoken to draw his interest or his ire.  She gave him a polite nod and tried to skulk away.  This was not the time to make new friends.  Not with the Void so close and ready to drag more people in as they had done with Thenera.

...that stupid Dalish elf with her worthless responsibilities towards a clan that had tried to execute her.  Clan Lavellan had finally gotten her killed as they had intended from the start.

“Not much of a talker, are you?”  The dwarf had fallen into step next to her, short legs taking two steps for each one of hers.  He had no fanciful beard to indicate dwarven culture, but his stocky proportions and strangely furred chest indicated he was not just a short human.  

Lalen gestured to her throat and opened her mouth as if to speak.  The two motions together generally told the story, and the dwarf was no fool.

“Did the blast cause that?” he asked cheerily.

She stopped walking.  The dwarf was attempting to converse with a mute elf about her muteness while all around them the sky exuded demons.  Had he taken a blow to the head?

“You’re right,” he said, as if he had heard her thoughts.  “Now isn’t the best time.  I’m Varric Tethras.”

_ I do not need to know your name, dwarf. I am only here until the Void takes me. _


	3. Awakening

Jerking awake, Thenera felt a distinct pain in her left hand where the Dread Wolf's fangs had sunk into her flesh. Her eyes were heavy, and the rest of her body reacted as though it were filled with iron. The faint orange glow from a torch painted the walls with shadows, yet she felt none of the flame's warmth. She recalled voices speaking phrases without meaning, emotions rather than words conveyed with ease. Anger and fear were loudest and the most palpable, akin to oil creeping over her skin until she was all but encased in it. It was a relief when she fell back into the Fade, alongside the strange mark on her hand that ached even in dreamless sleep

The second time Thenera woke was with gentle touches from cool fingers upon her brow. Instead of the cacophony of emotions that assaulted her previously, the area was now quiet and held a sense of calm. There was a distant chord of fear, but it was buried beneath the carefully orchestrated tranquility. She managed to open her eyes ever so slightly, and while her vision was blurred, she was aware enough to sense the arm holding her tightly. A jolt of terror raced up her spine and Thenera thrashed against her captor.

" _ Ir abelas, da'len, _ " a deep voice murmured, and she felt the man's chest vibrate with each word. Relief swept over her at the oddly accented elven and she relaxed against him. "You suffered a mild seizure." He smelled strongly of royal elfroot, spindleweed, and ozone, layered with another herb Thenera couldn't quite place. His scent conjured memories of painted wagon-like  _ aravels _ and Lalen’s steady, silent presence. It gave a small sense of security with its familiarity. "Here." A cup was pressed gently against her lips, and while the concoction within smelled dubious, she welcomed anything to quench her thirst. The cup was removed once she drained its contents, and the man holding her shifted slightly. "Can you hear me?"

"Aye,  _ hahren, _ " Thenera managed to croak. She licked her cracked lips and winced. " _ Ma serannas." _

A door slammed against a nearby wall abruptly, and she felt the healer tense. Anger radiated in waves from the newcomer, and she did her best to make herself small by curling against the other elf. The sound of boot heels stomping down a set of stone steps echoed through the room, stopping right next to where she lay. Instinctively, Thenera's eyes slid shut and her body went lax in order to appear as though she were still unconscious.

"Well?" came a woman's snarl. "It has been two days. How much longer will it take to wake the prisoner?"

"Her condition is improving slowly, but surely," the man holding her replied, voice steady. "I have slowed the mark's progression, but unless something more is done soon it will continue to spread and eventually consume her."

"A deteriorating body means nothing!" the woman snapped, her boots clacking against the cold stone floor as she began to circle the elves. "I need her awake so I can question her!"

"You ask much, Seeker," the healer said. He sounded as though it pained him to keep his tone even. His frustration was betrayed in how his fingers tightened upon Thenera. "I am doing all that I can."

"Are you?" The pacing stopped, and Thenera imagined the faceless woman towering over the two of them. The Seeker's voice was quiet, but with an undercurrent of violence. "You declared yourself an expert on the Fade and unknown magic, yet you've given us nothing! Tell me why I shouldn't have you executed."

"I have kept your prisoner alive," the man snapped, polite tone dissolving at the woman's threat. "Which is more than you would have had otherwise. There are a few other tests I had in mind before you attempt to haul me off on charges of apostasy."

"Work fast then,  _ apostate, _ " the woman hissed.

The Seeker's boots echoed off the stone steps once more as she left, the door slamming shut behind her. The man let out a sigh of relief and the cool fingers that found Thenera's branded hand shook as though from a palsy. Whatever he gave her to drink began to take hold, the insistent pull of the Fade making it harder for her to get a good look at the other mage. Her eyes slid shut. Behind her eyelids was a soft blue light, and the pulsing pain in her hand slowly subsided. A chill raced up her spine at the recollection of Fen'Harel's touch in her dream. The gentle blue of her healer's spell seeped into her palm just as the god's had.

"I gave you a draught to help you sleep," the man murmured. He shifted so he was laying down next to her. "While you rest, I will continue to try and find a longterm solution." His hand sought out hers, fingers intertwining. "You are safe, now. Sleep."

His words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, gently coaxing her into the Fade. Despite the trauma of the past few days, her dreams held no sign of the blizzard. Occasionally, Thenera's thoughts began to stray towards the Conclave. The stormclouds clustered to the forefront of her mind and she started to shiver. Each time, she felt a gentle squeeze against her left hand and the healer’s soft voice began to sing part of an old lullaby in elven. With his voice, the dark clouds cleared, the sun shined brightly and she was left in a peaceful solitude.

_ Safe. _


	4. While She Sleeps

Lalen was almost dragging the longsword behind her by the end of the day.  The dwarf had ceased following her when the demons grew thicker in number and the wounds of the survivors grew worse.  There were not enough warriors unhurt to hold back the tide of corruption that spewed from the Fade and Lalen found herself eventually pressed back into the valley.  It was possible that her friend was still alive, but finding her would be impossible in the growing mess.  She pressed on, fumbling her stolen sword fearlessly towards lesser spirits and luring the most powerful ones towards groups of horned mercenaries and armored templars.

As the sun drew closer to the horizon and twilight’s fingers reached across the sky, the full size of the tear could be clearly seen.  So vast had its clutch grown that it almost swallowed the night in jealous green pulses of light.  The thought of any mage having the strength to close such a breach was terrifying, but the thought of no mage having enough frightened her more.  To leave it open into the world of dream and memory...

Lalen had seen Tevinter’s brutality, the unforgiving nature of Starkhaven’s circle, and now she would watch the world end.  She did not understand why she had been birthed into such an unforgiving world.  Better to have been stillborn than to nurse at her mother’s bosom to gain strength for this impossible…   _ Kaffas.   _ She finally let the sword fall from numbing hands.  Nothing she did right now could right the world, but this was not the time to give up.  Now was time to rest and to mourn.

Smoke whispered of campfire, and so Lalen followed the earthy smell towards the largest concentration of survivors.  It was not unlike a town, were it not for every structure assembled from scrap.  Small hovels held the almost-dead while the waking wounded milled around fires with bowls clutched in whatever portion of their hands remained.

The dwarf called to her immediately - somehow recognizing her amidst the rabble.  “Hero, over here.”

For a moment she could not find him.  The haze of people overwhelmed her senses and she took a wobbly step to reorient herself before she located his voice emanating from an emptier hearth amidst exhausted laughter.  Night did not stop the slow leak from the sky, but guards watched along the perimeter and allowed some modicum of rest.  This was a chance to release tensions before the coming morning.

She sat down on a scrap of charred wood and put her feet up to the fire.  The traditional Dalish armor that Thenera had taught her to make included leather wraps for the feet rather than shoes.  They left toes exposed to the wet and cold, and she could imagine no other comfort than feeling them dry once more.

“What’s a Dalish elf doing at the Conclave?” one of the humans wondered aloud, staring openly at her face.

Lalen touched her  _ vallaslin _ unconsciously, as if making sure the elven blood writing was still upon her skin.  When she first met Thenera, Lalen had offered the Dalish First all her coin for the markings only to avoid questions from travelers  _ and templars _ about her continuing presence in the woods.  Thenera had chosen to give her the symbols of Dirthamen, an Elven god known for keeping secrets.  It was a fitting enough mask for a girl with no voice, and yet outside of the wilds it made her once again a target.

“The same thing most of the people here are,” Varric Tethras responded, taking a long drink from a clay mug for dramatic effect.  “Humans aren’t the only ones affected by the rebellion.”

“Guess we won’t see the end of that for a while,” muttered another human.  “Hope they catch the bastards’ did this, and make ‘em die slow…”

“Oh, I’ve heard rumors that the right and left hand of the Divine are looking into it,” the dwarf said with a wink towards Lalen.  She did not understand what he meant by the gesture.

His words sparked the interest of the people huddled around the flames, though.  One city-elf and three humans: they all begged with various forms of, “come on, let’s hear it.”  The dwarf seemed delighted by the attention and leaned in conspiratorially.

“They’ve caught someone supposedly mixed up in all this.  Rumor has it she came out of the Fade, that the breach itself is mirrored in her palm.”

“A demon!” the elf whispered, eyes wide.

“Possibly,” Varric said, taking another drink.  His eyes shifted to Lalen once again.  “You know, you should really have someone look at your hand.  And maybe your feet.  Andraste’s ass, hero, you’re a mess.”

Lalen met the dwarf’s whisky eyes before she realized he was speaking to her.  She let her attention fell to her bloodied fingers.  The cuts were not deep, but the blood had steadily fallen to mix with the demonic ichor splattered on her quilted woolen tunic.  Her inexperienced use of the sword’s rough handle had not been kind to their mending.  As for her feet, the leather wraps were made with mobility through wooded glens in mind, not dashing through man-made rubble blasted to shards.  She had gathered a great deal of the temple’s remains in the skin of her calloused toes.

After carefully studying the debris in the drifting firelight, Lalen began to unwrap the leather.  The dwarf began to tell another story about some unarmed templar that had wrestled a rage demon but she could feel eyes curiously watching her extract what she could from her scarred skin.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” the elf whispered to her.

Lalen sluggishly stirred from her focus on her feet but before she could make her  _ I cannot speak  _ symbol but Varric’s voice drew the other elf’s gaze.  

“She’s not much of a talker,” he said knowingly into his mug.

Thenera had always served as her voice before.  To have this dwarf feel the need to speak for her…   _Maker..._  The Keeper would not allow her to fully become a member of Clan Lavellan unless she bonded and without Thenera there, she was not certain they would allow her to do even that.  If her companion was dead - with the Maker’s sense of humor almost a certainty - the world would become…   _She would have no one to follow, no one to serve as her voice, and no one she could trust._ Uncertainty rose in Lalen’s chest, gripping her lungs like a vice.  The air was gone from this place and she could no longer breathe.  

_ Too much noise, too many -- _  She abruptly rose from the campfire.

Vaguely, she was aware of the decreasing warmth around her as she pitched through the muddle of stimulus.  She knocked into someone, readjusted her route, and finally made it out of the camp into the green-stained silence of the night.   _ Maker, Creators, Ancestors...please protect Thenera if she still lives… _

The steadiness of replacing the wraps on her feet lulled her thoughts back into a more discernible state.  She was no longer sure exactly why she had fled the camp, but she did not wish to return despite the potential for danger.  A large cluster of rocks provided a small overhang that she was barely able to squeeze into.  It would be safe enough.  Thrusting her hands between her knees to keep them warm, she drifted into hard sleep.

Thenera did not come to her that night.

The next day found Lalen taking up the same sword that still lay where she had discarded it the night before.  She was uncoordinated and her effectiveness dropped as fighting shifted focus from rescue to destruction.  Everyone fought together to stem the tide of demons pouring from the seemingly infinite number of small green tears but combat was not her specialty even when she wielded magic.  She was fast, not powerful, and yet somehow she survived the day and once again returned to the camp.  

Food had risen from a background thought to singular focus; Thenera and she had breakfasted the morning of the temple’s destruction but nothing had passed her lips since then.  Lalen was thirsty and although she had no appetite, she needed to keep her strength up.

Out of nowhere, as she turned a corner where the smell of food wafted, a hand touched her arm.  She recoiled hard enough to hit the wall and shake the entire structure.  It was the Maker-damned dwarf again.  He was studying her, evidently surprised by her volatile reaction.  “Come with me, hero,” he said, his voice low in warning.  “They’re looking for you.”

She stayed pressed against the building, eyes darting from him to the surrounding area and back to him.  He leaned in closer.  “I don’t have time to explain.  They’ve got your silver-haired friend down in Haven and word’s gotten around that there’s a second Dalish.  Nightingale’s confirmed you came in with her and they’re looking to question you.”

Silver haired…   _ Thenera.   _ He meant Thenera.  Thenera was alive.

With the Fade still bleeding demons and the numerous scattered Chantry dealing with it, the city would be an impossible distance away.  But  _ if _ Thenera was still alive, Lalen had to try to rescue her.  She just had to get past the dwarf...

“Hero, stop,” Varric said, sensing her plan and touching her arm again with more care.  “As I understand it, she’s still unconscious, but there’s another elf looking after her.  She’ll be fine.  Right now you need to get out of sight.  There aren’t many other elves out here with artwork like yours.”

Distrust was second nature to Lalen.  She did not truly believe everyone was evil at heart, but she did not walk into situations without at least considering the possibility that it may not end well.  This dwarf could easily have been trying to lure her in for any number of reasons.  But there was also the same chance that he was telling the truth and could give her instructions on what to do.

She followed him.

He led her to a paltry lean-to tucked between two hurriedly assembled healer’s tents.  Inside was only a bedroll and a small oil lantern casting strange shadows on the walls, but in chaos where people struggled just to survive a single day, he had amassed a small fortune.  He pulled the bow from his back and set it gently inside as he held the cloth flap open for her.  Both fit inside although there was room for little else.  Lalen sat cross-legged in the remaining room in the corner and left the bedroll for her host.

Varric seated himself across from her.  His voice had remained steady each time he spoke but there was a measure of distress in his eyes.  “I was watching you after the explosion.  That’s not the way a guilty person acts,” he explained.  “And no offense, but two Dalish don’t really seem capable of anything that happened up there.”  He was studying her as he spoke, and his eyes dropped to her feet.  “May I?”  

He put a hand out ever so slowly towards her foot and watched her face for a reaction.  His touches had become more careful since the first and he seemed not to mean any harm.  She allowed him to slowly guide her heel to his lap.  There was no certainty to his motives but his crossbow was still within reach.  If he wanted something, he could easily take it by force.

“You’ve certainly got the callouses of a Dalish.  Andraste’s ass, hero.  Why are your people so against shoes?  The number of times I had to fish bits of glass and metal from Daisy’s feet…I swear, that girl tracked half of Lowtown into the Hanged Man with her.”  He shook his head and reached into the pocket of his leather duster for a small roll of tools.  Lockpicks, from the look of them, but there were many other tools for disarming traps and the like.  He pulled a pair of small pliers from the middle and set the pack back down.

Lalen immediately picked it up to study it.  The craftsmanship was astounding for such an insignificant item.  Either he picked locks with great frequency or he had money to spare.  She looked up to find him watching her again.

“I’ve got a friend like you.  She’d pretend to be fine so our healer would leave her alone.  What I don’t understand is why you looked so surprised when I mentioned this in the first place.  Don’t you feel pain?”

Lalen looked at him anew.  It had taken Thenera weeks to ask the same question and he had thought to ask it in a matter of hours.  But what to tell him?  Thenera was a  _ somniari  _ which meant she could shape dreams and enter those of another.  Lalen could speak to her...explain the answer.  Yes, she felt pain.  She felt pain constantly.  It surged through her body from the moment she awoke and until her mind finally gave in to slumber in the night.  Over time she had simply become accustomed to it and new pains were insignificant beneath the noise.  Explaining that with no voice was impossible, though, so she simply nodded.

He chuckled and held up the pliers which held a crimson shard of metal.  “You sure about that, hero?”

_ Ser Tethras, you are infuriatingly curious.   _ He had no reason to remain interested in her unless he thought she had something to do with the giant hole in the sky.  So she nodded again, this time holding his gaze with an angry resolution.   _ As far as you know, yes, dwarf. _

He made an amused noise and dropped his focus back to her feet. “And the quiet elf fervently wished the charming dwarf would mind his own business.”

Varric worked slowly and precisely, fingers strangely nimble despite the breadth of his hands.  This was a man that had put a lot of time into small mechanisms.  He leaned in with the focus she only saw in the Dalish craftsman and the older mages in the circle - and after a time he had fished even the smallest splinters out of her skin.

“There,” he announced with no pomp in his voice.  “You’ll be ready to rescue your friend or fight demons or whatever it is you plan to do without leaving bloody footprints everywhere.”

Lalen stifled a yawn and gave him a polite nod.  Showing silent gratitude was never easy, so she fished into her pockets to pull out coin for him.  It was the universal language of thanks.  To her surprise, he gave her an amused smile and closed her hands back around the gift.

“Coin won’t be much use if the world ends,” he said.  “If we get out of this shit, then I accept payment in ale.”

What felt like moments later, Lalen was wrenched awake into the green haze of morning.  She did not remember falling asleep but Varric’s presence confirmed it was not all a dream.  He was swearing even before he had fully opened his eyes.  It took two to drag the dwarf along with them, and while only one pair of eyes focused on Lalen, she bolted.

“Hero, wait.  Don’t -!”

But she was already gone, dodging the woolen-clad scout when she could not out run.  She scrambled over tents, through people making breakfast and almost made it to the perimeter before the scout finally caught up.

The woman plunged a knife into her leg, dropping her instantly and causing enough pain to break through the constant hum of her nerves. Warm blood spread across Lalen’s breeches and she stared at it in disbelief for a moment before she was hauled backwards towards the others.  Everyone still in the camp seemed to be looking on with interest but nobody rose to interfere.

“If you try to limp away, I have another dagger for the other,” the woman growled in warning.  Lalen considered revealing her magic to fight free -  _ she was so close _ \- but with so many templars around and her leg now useless, there was no way she would make it to Thenera.

The dwarf made a sound of disgust as they came back into view.  “Chantry forces always seem so brutish for an organization centered around peace,” he tsked.  “Shouldn’t have run, hero.  Only makes you look guilty.”

Or he said something similar.  Lalen was having trouble hearing over the pound of blood in her ears and the throb of response in her leg.

“Quiet your tongue, dwarf.  You’re in enough trouble as it is for harboring her,” came the retort.  The soldier dragging him shook his arm for emphasis, causing the dwarf to stumble.

“I didn’t  _ harbor  _ her,” he protested.  “I was simply...conducting an investigation for the Seeker who may or may not be aware of it.”  He seemed fully unconcerned by the proceedings, although his attention did keep drifting to Lalen’s leg as was drug along next to him.

They were not pulled from the camp; they were taken to a tent of markedly better construction than the rest of the area.  It was clearly Chantry forces that had erected it, although none were present save the three bringing them in.  They were shackled hand and foot and bound with no uncertainty to the center post of the tent.

“A tent with no demons trying to kill us.  And you call this a punishment…” Varric said with a laugh.

He was ignored and the three disappeared from the tent again.  Lalen wiggled her toes, now frozen from the forced march across the camp.  She had not been paying attention to her magic to regulate her temperature as Thenera had shown her, and now the only warmth she could feel was where her leg continued to bleed beneath the blade.

Varric heaved a sigh from behind her.  “Well, I can think of worse things than being chained up in a Chantry tent with a mute.  The Deep Roads, Darktown, Hightown..talking to Chantry Boy, the outdoors...  That thing in the sky’s going to destroy all that if your friend can’t fix it.”

Lalen had ceased listening as she raised her legs up to get at the knife with her mouth.  The next people to come in through the flap found her sawing at the ropes with the handle held between her teeth and Varric strongly encouraging her to stop.

The knife was pulled away from her and the wound on her leg hastily dressed.  And then the questions started.   _ What’s your name, who sent you, why did the Dalish do this, were they trying to kill the Divine or end the peace talks?   _ ...endless unanswerable questions.  Varric alerted them to her muteness but when they confirmed she had a tongue they were incredulous.  She was pretending.  They would  _ make  _ her talk.

Except the pain of talking was far greater than anything they could inflict.  She’d lost consciousness for three hours the first time she tried and the second went no better.  The following punches to the face would not change that, nor would blows to her chest or her wounded leg - although they did make her vomit empty bile.  And so the minutes, or maybe hours crawled by.  A blow, a question, a threat, a bluff, and Lalen’s continued, infuriating silence.

When the woman finally showed up - hair dark, skin deeply tanned, Nevarran accent, and the strange flaming eye painted on her armor - Lalen was too tired to even bother acknowledging her.

“Varric, why do you always align yourself with such filth?”  The agitation was audible in the woman’s voice.  These two had crossed paths before.

“Hawke would be very upset if she heard you say th... _ Seeker, calm down. _ ”

In two strides, the “seeker” was upon Lalen, drawing a dagger as she moved.  “Tell me why you killed Most Holy,” she said in a cold voice, “or I will cut it out of you.”

Lalen looked up at her with half-lidded eyes.   _ Always the same threats. _  These Chantry folk seemed sheltered.  She led children past burning corpses outside the ruins of the temple  and they had not given them so much as a second glance.  A blade could never be as cruel as the real world - especially now that demons ran freely without need of possession.

“She’s mute, seeker,” Varric explained for the nth time.  “Yelling at her won’t change that.”

“I don’t believe the act.”  The anger rose in her voice.

“And I saw her helping people after the blast, Seeker.  She had no idea anyone was looking for her and she was already mute.  I don’t think it’s an act, and I don’t think she knows anything.”

There was a single downward motion from the armored woman and Lalen felt warmth spreading from her uninjured leg.  She had not truly been prepared for unprovoked aggression from the woman, and so the pain of being stabbed a second time broke through her walls and into her head.  It only drew a whimper, but she found herself suddenly choking down an onslaught of rising heartbeat and heaving breath.  She had no way to rescue Thenera if she was  _ unable to walk. _

“So you are capable of making sound,” the woman said.  Her eyes were full of fury and pain.  She lashed out like so many others.  “Why does your clan member bear a mark like the one in the sky?  Who was behind her in the Fade?  How could she survive that?”

The questions came rapid fire, each one more confusing than the last.  Thenera was good at her magic, certainly, but she bore no marking - only the vallaslin on her face.  The look of bewilderment on Lalen’s face seemed only to further enrage the seeker because she pulled backward and paced the room.

“And here I thought you only stabbed people in the books,” Varric said.  “Good to know.”

The woman turned on him.  “You make jokes, but the Most Holy is dead, the Conclave is destroyed, and this Dalish’s clan member is the only survivor.  While she remains unconscious, we can do nothing. Why did you hide her from me, Varric?”

How had Thenera’s survival brought her to the forefront of suspicion more so than any other?   _ Was she simply the closest elf? _

“For starters,” Varric replied cheerfully, “I knew it would annoy you.  But mostly I know the Chantry’s tactics and I know they don’t work.”

The woman made a disgusted sound.  The shield strapped to her back clanked against her as she crossed her arms.  “You heard her as clearly as I did, Varric.  She has a voice, she just refuses to use it.”

“Then maybe it’s for a good reason,” the dwarf said pointedly.

“Seeker Pentaghast,” a new voice intruded.  An elf stood at the entrance to the tent, bald head cocked at an angle.  His blue eyes met the woman’s, and then drifted to Lalen.  “Your charge will be awakening soon, if she has not already.”  

His voice had a strange lilt to it, both accent and manner of speech.  Even as traveled as Lalen was, she couldn’t place his accent.

“Thank you, Solas,” the woman replied.  “Meet me back at Haven.  I have no choice but to try your plan, and we may need your expertise, apostate.”

_ Apostate. _  That explained his clothing.

He dressed as a city elf might if the city elf were suddenly thrust in with the Dalish moments before winter.  The People made their own clothes, but they were meant to take pride in their work.  His beige woolen overcoat was hastily sewn with no attention spared for aesthetic details.  The green tunic underneath was of substantially better make but more similar to the style of the humans.  A third layer had been added under the thin fabric, and yet he wore no hat and wrapped his feet as if the cold did not bother him.  Around his neck was a jawbone pendant.  Its significance was not clear for either human or Dalish - unless it served as a simple accessory meant to make him look like a madman rather than an upstanding -

Varric cleared his throat, pulling Lalen from her tirade.  “So, are you going to release us, or…?”

Solas turned around as if suddenly remembering they were there.  “This valley lies within a now volatile position,” he replied.  “The Chantry’s soldiers are falling back towards the town. It may benefit us to do so as well.”  

He moved forward to cut them free.  As soon as the ropes cleared Lalen’s body enough to move, she began to limp out of the tent.  She had no plan beyond tracking the Seeker to wherever Thenera was being held.

“You don’t think that dagger currently sheathed in your leg is worth addressing?” Varric called after her.

Lalen did not stop.  It was true: she had completely forgotten about the blade and she drew it from her thigh mid step -

\-  and then she was staring dizzily up at the bald elf leaning on his staff above her.

“I understand you wish to save your friend, but might I suggest patience in this instance?” he said, helping her up with a smirk.  “I healed your wounds but they may still trouble you for some time.”

Lalen scrambled past him.  She had given in to a reality where Thenera perished in the blast and then allowed the dwarf to talk her out of coming to her aid when she was still at full strength.  If this  _ Seeker Pentaghast _ planned to take her companion anywhere, Lalen would be there regardless of templars, demons, or even the sixth Blight.

They retreated in a group from the valley; the elf had undersold the danger of their location.  The demons were encroaching on the camp where they had been previously beaten back a fair distance.  Their position was almost lost.

The three of them were clumsy together.  Solas was a mage and wielded shield and ice, Varric kept them at range, while Lalen continued to feign knowledge of the longsword that had doggedly followed her for three days.  They would not win any medals for combat prowess but they were surviving.  Problems arose, however, when they came face to face with one of the broken shards of the breach in the sky near the broken ruins of a large structure.  The gash into the Fade glittered just as they reached where the entrance would have been - and the shades huddled beneath it immediately rushed towards them.

“Now it gets interesting,” Varric announced, loosing the first bolt from his crossbow.  

The creature crumpled to dust and two more moved to fill its place.  Moments lazily crawled by as the three of them focused on dispatching everything in sight - but the rift continued to allow a seemingly endless tide of creatures to crawl out of the Fade.  Lalen’s arms were tired and she moved too sluggishly to stop everything from getting past her.  Thankfully, Varric was able to keep up, rolling out of harm’s way and re-positioning himself behind the elves as they maintained their onslaught.

And then the Seeker crested the hill, sword and shield at the ready.  The large sheet of iron strapped to her arm bore the same flaming eye as her armor.  It had to be the emblem for whatever the “Seekers” were.

“Quickly!  Before more come through!” Solas shouted, and Lalen realized he was pulling someone towards the tear in the sky.

A green light of the same intensity as the rift’s sparked to life, seeming to sense its presence, and the two connected with a rising howl.  Lalen felt her whole body flush with warmth as the glow cleared to reveal the silver-haired elf standing behind it staring at her with those deep purple eyes.

Thenera had taken the branching vallaslin of Falon’Din, elven god of death and fortune.  If it would ever be fitting, now was that time.  Her friend had risen from certain death and now bore a mark that could perhaps save them from the Fade itself.


	5. Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Known lore tells us that small rifts can be sealed... but what about a large one? What if some catastrophic magical event created a rift so large and horrific, it weakened the integrity of the Veil as a whole? Such a "breach" would threaten our entire world, turning concerns about occasional demonic intrusion into a charming anecdote compared to the monsters we would then face.
> 
> If there is anything to be done, any reason we should look at magic with fear, it is for that possibility more than any other.
> 
> \-- _The True Threat of Magic_ by Lady Seeker Alandra Vael

Thenera threw herself into the fight, magic wild and unrestrained as demons burst into flames all around her. She noticed Lalen up ahead, wielding a sword in place of her usual bo staff. She stood between the monsters and a beardless dwarf. Her clanmate managed to deflect the demon’s claws away with the blade, albeit clumsily. They fought alongside a tall, bald elf who threw a hasty barrier around the three of them. The attacking shade smashed into the transparent shield, screeching and clawing to no avail before it was dispatched by Seeker Pentaghast with contemptuous ease.

The elven man's eyes seemed to almost be magnetically drawn to Thenera. Without hesitation he grabbed her by the wrist and wrenched her closer to the rift. His lips moved, but the words were lost in a sudden roar from above.

The nerves in Thenera’s marked hand surged to life, bones grinding against one another as the stranger gripped her with a desperate strength. She directed the unfamiliar power as best she could, letting out a surprised cry when the rift sealed shut with one last burst of energy. She yanked her hand away.

"What did you do?" she demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I did nothing," the man replied, keeping his distance. He leaned on his staff heavily, obviously winded from the battle. "The credit is yours."

The stranger’s words were a welcome change from the people of Haven. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast had escorted her through the tiny village of Haven past dozens of infuriated human faces. Slurs and expletives were hurled after each stumbling step Thenera took.  Some had even been bold enough to spit in her face while hands ripped and tore at whatever they could reach. Cassandra shoved the throng back, but it left the elf rattled nonetheless.

The  _ shemlen  _ certainly had no interest in giving her credit for ought but death and destruction.

Lalen reached out and gently touched Thenera’s marked hand. The dark haired woman’s head tilted, and she shook her head slowly.  _ He is no danger,  _ the gesture said.

Thenera cast a dubious glance at her own hand, turning it this way and that. The only anomaly on her flesh was the webbed scarring located in her palm which still occasionally pulsed in time with the Breach. Otherwise, her skin was flawless.

"At least this is good for something," she muttered.

"Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand," the man explained. His eyes traced the  _ vallaslin _ upon her face before meeting her gaze. "I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake." He smiled, looking quite pleased with himself. "And it seems I was correct."

"Meaning it could also close the Breach," Cassandra said, coming to stand next to the group.

"Possibly." The man shifted his weight, inquisitive and piercing blue eyes never leaving Thenera's face. "It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

"Good to know," the dwarf with the crossbow cut in.  He adjusted his leather gloves.  “Here I thought we’d just keep stabbing people’s legs until the demons stopped.” Stepping up to Thenera, he extended his hand which the Dalish elf clasped. "Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and sometimes unwelcome tag along."  

He winked at Cassandra. Lalen hid a smile when Cassandra’s nose wrinkled in distaste. 

Thenera blinked.  _ What in the Void is a dwarf doing here?  _ "Are you with the Chantry, or...?"

The elven man snorted, a smirk twisting his lips. "Was that a serious question?"

"Technically I'm a prisoner just like you," Varric replied, giving a pointed glance over towards the human.

"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine," the Seeker spat, glowering at the dwarf. “Clearly that is no longer necessary. You chose to harbor a potential enemy of the faith right under our noses.”

Thenera got the distinct impression there was no love lost between the two.

"Yet, we’re both here." The dwarf gave Cassandra a smug grin, crossing his arms across his broad chest. "All more or less whole and able to serve despite your efforts otherwise. Lucky for you, considering current events."

_ Despite her efforts otherwise...  _ Thenera noticed the dark stains that covered Lalen’s thigh and the ragged tears in her clanmates leggings. The bared skin was marred by scars that hadn’t been present before they arrived at the Conclave.  _ What have they done to you? _

Cassandra's face flushed an angry red.  “You’re  _ lucky _ I don’t clap you back in irons, dwarf. You and the mute elf both.” The woman took a step back with a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.  "Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated Varric, but--"

"Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?" Varric asked, the easy smile fading into one that held palpable malice. "Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. The demons are a bit more than a defenseless elf, I’m afraid. You  _ need _ us."

Thenera glanced over to Lalen for verification, fists clenched.  _ Not the time,  _ she told herself.  _ Silent, unseen. _

Her friend gave a brusque nod.  _  He is competent _ , it said.

Cassandra's mouth twisted, but she brooked no further argument. Instead, she threw her hands up and walked away with a noise of disgust. Varric and the elven man visibly relaxed once the Seeker was no longer hovering over them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Varric," Thenera said, fighting to remain polite despite her growing unease.  

“You may reconsider that stance in time," the elven man replied dryly.

"Aww, I'm sure we'll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles," Varric replied, brushing the other man's snide remark aside.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," the elf said. He gave Thenera a warm smile. "I am pleased to see you still live."

Varric laughed. "He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept'."

_ His voice...the healer from the dungeon,  _ Thenera realized. She eyed him with a newfound respect. 

“ _ Ma serannas, hahren.”  _ She bowed her head, a sign of respect among the Dalish.  __ “My name is Thenera, First of Clan Lavellan.” She gestured toward the dark haired elf hovering at her side. “This is my sister, Lalen. We would gladly welcome any counsel you have."

“So the hero has a name after all,” Varric murmured.

"Like you, Solas is an apostate." Cassandra's voice piped up behind her. The Seeker eyed the three elves with barely concealed suspicion. “He volunteered himself as an arcane advisor.”

"Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra." Solas' tone, while polite, held an edge of ice to it. His attention returned to Thenera. "My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage or Dalish Keeper." His eyes flickered to the ominous hole in the sky. "I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin."

"And once this is all over?" Thenera asked. “Do you expect the Chantry to simply set us on our way?”

"One hopes those in power will remember who helped and who did not," Solas replied easily. He glanced towards the Seeker, fingers tightening upon his staff. "Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine  _ any  _ mage having such power."

The stern gaze of the Seeker returned to Thenera.  "Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

It took every ounce of pride in the Dalish elf to not shrink away from the human. Instead, she lifted her chin and met the other woman's stare defiantly. Cassandra gave a curt nod before starting up the path. 

Varric glanced up at Thenera with a wide grin and patted his crossbow fondly. “Well, Bianca’s excited.”

The dwarf trudged off after Cassandra and Lalen followed silently. Thenera felt Solas' calculating stare on her back as she fell into step behind her sister. Her stomach roiled and the hair at the nape of her neck stood on end. Cassandra was sullen and waspish whereas Varric hung back by Lalen, chattering on about nonsense. The bald elf striding beside her, on the other hand, was unsettling in his silence.  

Varric was on his third story before the man said a word.

"You indicated that you are Dalish," Solas said, finally breaking the pregnant silence.  They stood at the foot of a steep, snow covered hill.  He regarded her curiously and tilted his head slightly. "Yet clearly away from the rest of your clan. Did they send you here?"

"When I first heard your voice in the dungeon I thought you would have had  _ vallaslin, _ " Thenera deflected. Speaking of Clan Lavellan always put her on edge. Instead of answering his probe, she set to work analyzing him in turn. “Yet you don’t speak as though you’re from an Alienage or a clan. A hedge mage, then? Our Keeper would have named you thin blood _. _ ” She pushed past him, using her staff to gain a foothold and pulled herself up the lofty embankment. "Many Dalish aren't known for their hospitality toward ‘barefaced flat-ears.’"

If the slurs disturbed him, Solas gave no indication. He matched her pace easily, using his own staff to make the climb up after her. Cassandra reached down alongside Lalen, both women clasping Varric's forearms and hauling the dwarf up the hill with annoyed grunts.

"Your words are unfortunate, but true,” he said after careful consideration. “I have wandered many roads in my time. Crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion." 

Resentment oozed from Solas, words clipped and abrasive.

“That sounds like a polite way of putting it,” Thenera observed.

“Better than, ‘I was chased out with pitchforks’,” Varric cut in. 

"I meant that I offered to share knowledge only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition," Solas replied. 

Thenera laughed bitterly, losing her footing momentarily. The chill of old memories settled like a stone in her gut.

"That sounds familiar,” she muttered. “Always running off our own because of differing opinions on ancient fairytales." The snow crunched under her wrapped feet and she grimaced. Thenera abhorred the snow, thanks to some of her clan's  _ superstitions. _ "Despite what some say we are both of the same people, Solas."

He was quiet for a time, mulling over her words. Eventually, a weary smile tugged at his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The Dalish I met felt...quite differently on the subject."

They hiked without incident most of the way until they discovered a rift sitting just outside the doors leading to the Chantry’s makeshift stronghold. Hot, sharp agony pierced her left arm, radiating out from the mark on her palm. Thenera cried out in pain, drowned out by the Breach’s roar as it grew ever larger high above them. Falling to her knees, Thenera tucked her hand against her stomach.  Lalen was immediately at her side, worried eyes fixated on the pulsing green light that spilled between the other elf’s fingers.

“My magic cannot stop your mark growing further,” Solas told them, attention focused squarely on the Breach. He did not notice the demon materializing from the nearby rift. “For your sake, I suggest we hurry.”

"Watch out!" Thenera managed to snarl between clenched teeth. 

Flames flowed through the lyrium within her blood and channeled into the ragged staff she held. Thenera's magic twisted up and around Solas, skirting close enough to singe the edges of the man’s tunic. The streams of fire enveloped the shade behind him, black ichor oozing to the ground as the creature shrieked. Solas’ feet slid in a pool of the tar-like blood when he scrambled away from the second demon that rose to take the other’s place.  

Cassandra shouted, throwing herself between their party and the demon. A brutal shield bash shoved the creature back long enough for Lalen to get an arm around Thenera’s waist. After ensuring that her friend was on her feet, the dark haired elf joined Cassandra on the front line. Solas harried the creature with the blade of his staff before Lalen managed to end the demon with a clumsy thrust from her longsword. 

The snow churned as raw Fade essence poured through into reality. Jagged, sharp malachite erupted from the ground next to Thenera’s feet and the mark on her hand thrummed eagerly in response. The muscles in her arm tensed but the gesture seemed natural now. Her hand snapped forward, palm extended towards the rift. 

With one last hiss, the emerald wound sealed shut. Where the Fade once bled into the world, it now grudgingly sank back to the other side and left only charred earth as a reminder. Lalen sheathed her sword, staring at the mark within Thenera’s palm in a mixture of awe and confusion. Cassandra headed toward the gates, shouting orders to the nearby Chantry soldiers.

The vortex churned above their heads while soldiers scrambled to obey the Seeker’s commands. Heavily fortified doors swung open and Thenera led the rag tag group into the camp, which consisted of little save roughshod tables manned by harried looking Chantry clerks. Seeing an institution so renowned in its dedication to order brought to such levels of anarchy was disheartening. 

But then, what could be more chaotic than the end of the world?

“Ah, here they come.” An older looking man wearing Chantry robes pushed away from a makeshift war table. 

“You made it,” the woman called Leliana said. She moved out from behind the table and approached Cassandra. Her sharp gaze scanned the Seeker for injuries before settling on Thenera. “Chancellor Roderick, this is--”

“I  _ know  _ who she is,” the man spat. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order Seeker Pentaghast to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

“Order  _ me _ ?” Cassandra towered over him. “You're a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat.”

Roderick flinched, but stood his ground. “And  _ you  _ are a thug. But one who supposedly serves the Chantry.” The man’s attention shifted to Thenera, and the  _ shem  _ didn’t even try to hide his look of disgust. “Nonetheless, this elf must face justice for what she’s done.”

“Is she not even worthy of standing trial?” Solas asked, head tilted and a sharp smile stretching across his lips. “Rigged though it would inevitably be?”

“And of what crime will I be falsely accused of,  _ shemlen? _ ” Thenera hissed. “What happened at the Conclave was not my doing.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lalen shift. One hand rested on her blade. 

“Once again the humans try to destroy their only hope of rescue,” Varric muttered with the flicker of a smile.

“Divine Justinia--” Cassandra began.

“Justinia is dead!” Roderick roared in anguish. He threw his hands up in frustration. “We must elect a replacement, and obey her orders on the matter!”

Thenera shifted her weight, crossing her arms across her chest. “ _ None _ of this will matter if something isn’t done about the demon spewing hole in the sky.”

“Agreed.” Cassandra glared down at the Chancellor before turning to Leliana. “So how do we reach it?”

“There are two options,” Leliana said. “The mountain path behind me, or charging alongside the soldiers.”

Cassandra turned to Thenera. “Which do you suggest?”

Seeker Pentaghast was the same woman who had clapped her in irons, tortured Lalen, and repeatedly shown aggression towards them. And this same woman was asking for  _ Thenera’s _ opinion?

“You must be joking,” she said hoarsely. Rage coiled tight in her belly. “ _ Now _ you care about what I want?”

Solas stepped forward, head down and hands clasped in front of him. “ _ You _ have the mark.”

“And  _ you  _ are the one we must keep alive.” The Seeker’s tone was one of frigid practicality. “The magic you hold may be our only chance of stemming the tide.”

“Then I say we charge.” Her words were confident and firm while her heart thudded against her chest. With the Chantry, soldiers meant templars. Thenera’s hands trembled. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

Jagged spikes of raw Fade bled out from the temple’s battered structure as they pushed past Chancellor Roderick. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was no more than a ruin in the distance. So the fate of the world lay in a mark that slowly ate its host alive and the Right and Left Hands of the Divine looked to a Dalish elf for answers. In such a world, three elven apostates fighting alongside templars would be the least strange occurrence as of late.

Blood and ichor tainted the air, layered atop a sharp tang of ozone that seemed to permeate everything. The ambient traces from the Fade tasted unusually sour in the back of Thenera’s throat the closer they drew to the Temple. Claws screeched against metal as a trio of terrors and a dwindling contingent of templars clashed together in front of yet another rift. The blazing sword of the Chantry stood out stark against their shining breastplates and shields.  Thenera’s breath caught in the back of her throat from terror at what these men represented, but she hesitated for only a moment before coming to their aid.

With templar assistance, the demons fell quickly and Thenera was able to seal the rift.  _ They won’t kill me if they have need of me, _ she told herself. The thought did little to slow her racing heartbeat. 

“Sealed, as before,” Solas said with a hint of disbelief. “It seems you are becoming quite proficient at this.”  

“Let’s just hope it works on the big one…” Varric muttered.

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to seal the rift?” A man wearing platemail and a furred cloak approached them, longsword held loosely in one hand. His voice identified him as Ferelden and the way he carried himself screamed templar despite his armor missing the tell tale symbol. “Well done.”

“Do not congratulate me, Commander,” the Seeker replied. Both of the humans took the elf’s measure. Yet where the blonde man’s gaze was full of the suspicion Thenera had come to expect, Cassandra’s had softened. “This is the prisoner’s doing.”

“Is it?” He sheathed his sword, hand settling over the pommel.  _ Ready to draw at a moment’s notice, _ Thenera mused. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.”

“You aren’t the only one hoping that,” Thenera said softly. His eyes flickered to her hand when the mark sparked angrily. Her pulse stuttered and she grit her teeth against the pain. “I’m just hoping I can close the blighted thing.”

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we?” He gestured up towards a nearby path. “The way to the temple should be clear. Leliana will try to meet you there.”

“Then we’d best move quickly,” Cassandra said gravely. “Give us time, Commander.”

“Maker watch over you. For all our sakes.” 

In front of them, the Breach was larger than life. Once intricate stonework lay in ruin around them, tinted a sickly green from the yawning abyss above them. They walked among the burned, dessicated husks that were once the last hope for peace in Thedas. Their corpses lay frozen in time, with limbs twisted and mouths contorted in agony. Some reached towards the heavens while others lay curled in upon themselves where the scent of cooking flesh mixed with the copper, ozone-like tang of blood magic. Thenera’s stomach churned. Some of the younger soldiers accompanying them wretched and even grizzled veterans shifted, unnerved. 

A rift, much larger than any they had encountered before, lay within the inner sanctum. The jade stalactites made up of Fade essence turned to stark crimson veins of what looked to be raw lyrium. Lalen approached a chunk of the material, fingers outstretched towards it. Varric’s hand snatched the woman’s wrist. The dwarf gently urged her to back away.

“Don’t touch that stuff, Hero,” he said gruffly. “It’s evil.” Surprisingly, Lalen did not yank away from the dwarf. She merely nodded and stepped away. “It’s red lyrium, and a long way from Kirkwall.”  

Within the temple’s walls, flickers of memory echoed after them.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” a deep, reverberating voice boomed. “Bring forth the sacrifice.” There was a pause before it continued. “Keep the sacrifice still.”

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra’s voice shook. 

_ Something that has even a Seeker on edge?  _ Chilled sweat trickled down her spine.  _ Creators, what have I gotten myself into this time? _

“At a guess, the person who created the Breach,” Solas replied calmly. The closer they came to the gaping wound in the Veil, the more the mark upon Thenera’s hand throbbed. “This rift was the first, created by the speaker, and it is the key.”

A shallow ledge brought them face to face with the ugly wound in the sky. The mark on Thenera’s hand flared to life abruptly, the nerves in her arms aflame in anticipation for the flood of power the enormous rift promised. The air around the Breach crackled with magic.

“Someone, help me!” Divine Justinia’s voice rang through, her Orlesian accent thick and distinct. Raw emotion and desperation poured through the tear. 

Thenera’s own voice drifted out from across the Veil. “Creators have mercy...” 

“That was your voice…” Cassandra’s sounded breathless behind her. “Most Holy called out to you, but--”

The Seeker’s words were lost as the Breach roared in response. A particularly powerful surge of magic shot up Thenera’s arm. With another deep rumble, a vague shadow with two glowing red eyes materialized. It towered over a frail looking human woman within an intact version of the room they now stood in. 

The double doors within the illusion burst open, and Thenera Lavellan stormed in with flames flickering at her fingertips. “What’s going on here?”

“Run while you can!” the Divine cried. “Warn them!”

Thenera’s gut clenched, unease morphing into full blown anxiety.  _ Why can’t I remember any of this? _ Her skull felt full of buzzing insects and every muscle in her body tightened.  _ What happened here? _

“We have an intruder,” the shadowed creature said contemptuously. A claw like finger extended, pointing directly at Thenera. “Slay the elf.”

Another pulse surged through the elf’s arm and the vision dissipated. Thenera’s breathing was ragged, nearly to the point of hyperventilating.  _ Why can’t I remember? _

“You  _ were _ there!” Cassandra grasped her shoulders and jerked Thenera around to face her. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…?” Her eyes were wild and full of pain, anger radiating off the woman in waves. “Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” 

“I don’t remember,” Thenera whispered. Lalen reached out and took her hand before shifting so she was between the two. “I don't have any memories beyond our arrival to the Conclave.”

Cassandra’s shoulders sagged and she murmured an apology. 

“These are echoes of what happened here,” Solas said, cautiously padding closer to the Breach. “The Fade bleeds into this place.” He turned to face Thenera, voice slow and steady. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed...albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark you bear, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely.” A wry smile tugged at his lips. “However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“So more demons,” Varric muttered. “Great.”

“Archers! Set up around the perimeter!” Cassandra shouted, drawing her sword and readying her shield. She paced back and forth impatiently, channeling her rage into the upcoming fight. “Soldiers, stand ready!”

Thenera’s left hand ached from standing so close to such a well of power. Once everyone was prepared, she stepped forward and closed her eyes. Opening a rift was much easier than sealing one. The mark stirred to life when she focused her will, green energy hissing angrily once it connected. In a manner of seconds, the rift was opened and they faced the largest demon Thenera had ever seen.

 Arrows skittered off the creature’s thickened carapace. A deep, throaty laugh bubbled up from the creature’s chest before it swatted the nearby soldiers away as though they were insects. Lalen backed away slowly, shifting to move off to the abomination’s side while Cassandra stood steadfast in front of the demon.

_ Not desire or gluttony… _ Thenera’s eyes narrowed and she pulled fire to her. Deshanna’s stories came to the forefront of her mind, yet the woman’s descriptions did the creature little justice. Fear threatened to choke her.  _ Pride.  _

Two shades emerged from the Breach behind the giant and set upon the nearest warriors. Fire would be useless against Pride, but the shades? They may as well have been kindling. Walls of flame erupted, effectively blocking them off to the side. One made the mistake of trying to dart through only to be reduced to ash. Its partner shrieked in a fury, trapped. Two of Varric’s bolts ended the creature soon after. 

Her mark burned and sparked each time Thenera approached the rift and seemed to draw the demon’s attention with each pulse. Bianca sang and two of the demon’s eyes exploded in a shower of gore. The four remaining orbs skewered Thenera and it snarled fiercely; rumbling growls turned to an enraged scream when lightning arced through it. Pride’s attention shifted from her to Solas and Varric, but Lalen positioned herself in its path. Her friend slashed uselessly at its boulder-like fists.  

With the demon distracted, Thenera darted forward and reached out toward the rift. Instead of focusing on sealing the power away, she redirected it. Ozone reeked from her, head throbbing from the overwhelming mana surge. The magic seemed to sing, with the mark acting as an ever so slight disharmony. Just enough to disrupt, but not enough to ruin. Arrows began to find purchase in Pride’s armor and swords sliced through into muscle underneath. 

After touching such power, flames came all too easily. 

Armored plating sloughed off the creature in sickening layers, black ichor splattering upon the ground. Lalen lunged forward once the plate covering the creature’s heart melted and sunk her sword deep. Pride turned to ash, consumed in the flames.

Before more demons could escape through the tear, Thenera set to work mending the Veil itself. While there was still pain, it was an insignificant sensation compared to the raw  _ power _ pouring from the Breach. What felt like fragmented pieces missing from the fabric of her being were, if only for a few glorious moments, complete. This new connection to the Beyond felt familiar somehow, like a deep and mysterious ache within Thenera’s very soul. 

_ Heal, be whole, _ she willed it. Sweat beaded at her brow and she grit her teeth when the Breach resisted violently. Black spots began to dance at the edge of her vision, but she refused to break.  _ Be silent, unseen.  _

With a near deafening roar, the rift at Breach’s apex snapped shut and a beam of emerald magic rocketed up into the sky. Sweet relief flooded through her when the tear in the sky knit together. 

_ I did it…  _ The Void wrapped around her, yet she did not bother fighting it.  _ If the price for the world is my life, then so be it.  _

Darkness would always be welcome in place of a blizzard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer than it should have to finish. Mostly because I've played through this a million times and am pretty much sick to death of the opening sequence. Impatient to get to the Solavellan goodies I guess. Anyway, enjoy~


	6. Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mage who does not receive the teachings of the Circle and who does not have the words of Andraste in her heart is an apostate, and a danger to us all.
> 
> _—Excerpt of a letter from Grand Cleric Francesca of Starkhaven to Lord Guthrie Abholz._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for you due to last week's hiatus.

They would not allow Lalen anywhere near Thenera after her unconscious form was brought back down the mountain.  While she was the woman’s closest friend and ally, Lalen did not have a mark on her hand that was “sent by Andraste herself.”  Varric, sensing her distress or still intrigued by her silence, approached her as she stared into the still-wounded sky.

“I’ve convinced the Seeker to set aside a tent for you,” he said.  “I’d ask where you want it set up, but, well…”  

The dwarf’s thin lips parted into a cocky grin that accentuated the crows feet around his eyes.  At some point his nose had been broken - she could see the slight bend in the dimming light and a small scar across the bridge.  She put her finger to her own crooked nose.

“Too many stories to count,” Varric replied slowly and calmly.  The last few days had been just as hard on him as anyone, but he could not hide the tension in his shoulders.  “Most recent was Cassandra...most dramatic was a bar fight in Kirkwall that left everyone involved covered in my blood.  What about yours?”

_ Mine?   _ She looked down at the pillaged sword now loosely bound at her hip and took a shield stance with her other arm.

“Templars?” Varric guessed, rubbing his hands over his arms to warm himself.  “Were they trying to drag you to a Circle?”

Lalen tilted her head and put her hand on the pommel of her sword again to remind him of what she wielded.  He gave an incredulous laugh.  

“Hero, I spent ten years in the company of an apostate, a blood mage, and an abomination.  I know the signs.”

She found herself backing away from him before her brain had even registered what it fully implied.  This dwarf had been nothing but kind to her, but if he knew, then who else did?   _ Who had he told? _

Thenera was safe because of her mark, and Solas was safe because he understood the mark, but Lalen had no part in closing the Breach.  With Thenera unconscious again, she had no one to protect her…  His expression shifted from humor to uncertainty as he watched her fac.

“And the strange mute elf ran away from the helpful dwarf...  Relax, hero.  It wasn’t a threat.”  He turned away and started heading back towards his tent in the center of Haven.

Lalen watched him disappear well out of sight before following the palisade around the town to a corner where an empty wagon stood.  While the offer of the tent had been tempting, she could not afford to become comfortable here.  As soon as Thenera woke, they would likely leave.

She found sleep in the wagon that night, but Thenera still did not come.  Lalen suspected the mark had affected the other elf more than she had let on and fervently wanted to check on her -- but there were a pair of templars guarding the small cabin she was being kept in.  Instead, she moved throughout the camp, trying to ferret away supplies and cobble together clothing to more readily blend in with the refugees of Haven.  Shoes took the longest.  The refugees guarded their boots more closely than their weapons and she ended up bartering with a trader for the majority of her stolen goods.  The shoes fit poorly but when she had donned the simple woolen garments she became once more invisible in the camp.  The  _ vallaslin _ was not as easy to hide, but her cloak’s hood covered most and when she kept her head low she became faceless.

Varric, of course, still seemed to recognize her as she passed and called out a slightly more lukewarm greeting.  She quickened her pace.  If she could avoid his ire for another few days, perhaps Thenera would recover and Lalen would find safety in their need of her mark or in their sudden exit.  She grabbed a crate from next to a building as she faded from the dwarf’s sight.  Nobody disrupted people carrying things.  The tactic had allowed to sneak aboard a ship, to hide within cities, and to pass unnoticed in the Dalish camp.

She made it to evening, and then returned to her corner with the crate and her sword.  The wagon had been moved so she found herself sleeping on the ground again, but that night - finally - her companion wrapped her in dreams of the endless glade that blocked the ever-present Black City from view.

Thenera did not look as Lalen remembered.  Her dusky skin had an inner glow and Falon’Din’s  _ vallaslin  _ swirling across her face was almost aflame.  “ _ Lalen… _ ” The woman’s voice was breathless and her deep purple eyes wet. “Thank the Creators you’re safe.”

Lalen practically crushed her into a hug, leaves breaking falsely beneath her feet and the scent of wet earth hanging in her nose.  “I am glad you survived,” she said, face buried in Thenera’s long silvery hair.  Her constant pain did not follow her into the Fade and she could readily feel the soft texture of each strand reproduced by the dream.  “There is much talk of you and your mark.”

Thenera returned the embrace, fingers clutching her just as tightly.  When they released, Lalen could see the smaller woman surveying her.

“Speaking of marks…”  Thenera’s attention flickered to her leg and her eyes were suddenly alight with anger. “Have they hurt you further?”  The pale purple ink branching along her brow knit in irritation.  “If they’ve touched you, I swear I’ll--”

“No,” Lalen interrupted quickly, calming her fury, “but they will not let me visit you.  The magic in your hand has severely drained you.  You have slept two days already.”

Her friend’s mouth turned in a wry smile. “Saving the world is exhausting work.”

“But the sky is now healed,” Lalen said wistfully.  “We can return to the clan whenever you wake.”

The smile on Thenera’s face faded and she took Lalen’s hands. “This mark…” The fingers of her left hand twitched. “If it can help put things right, I can’t just flee into the night.” She laughed softly. “It’s not as if Deshanna will miss us, after all.”

Lalen shifted the smaller elf’s hands so her left palm lay bare.  The green light had faded to a simple scar, but whether it was a function of the Fade or from the attempt to close the Breach, she could not be sure.  “If that is what you wish.”  She let go of Thenera’s hands and took a few steps into the familiar undergrowth.  “But if I am to be honest, this  _ vallaslin  _ serves the opposite purpose when we are not in the woods.  Do the Dalish teach of its removal?”  

It was not a wholly serious question.  The  _ vallaslin  _ was born of blood and ink and became as permanent as a scar when it was done.

“They are a bit off putting to the  _ shemlen _ ,” Thenera said with her smile returning. “But we’ll just have to be on our best behavior, won’t we?”  She tsked.  “No more running about skyclad on the full moons or drinking infant’s blood.”

Lalen smiled.  “You make us sound quite brutish.”  Her gaze fell to the leather footwraps that Thenera’s dream had wound back around her.  The loose earth was comfortingly cold between her toes where Haven was harsh and full of broken nature.  “Please wake soon, Thenera.  I admit I am lost without you.”

“You will have a voice again soon enough,” Thenera replied. “The Fade doesn’t cling to me like a second skin, and I’m slowly regaining strength.” The scar in the palm of her hand sparked for but a moment and she winced. “Getting used to this took longer than I hoped. But at least it’s no longer trying to devour me.”

“But it still pains you,” Lalen observed -- and then she was dragged from the dream into the frigid night air.

 

A templar knelt over her in the darkness, armor as big as the horizon.  One gloved hand was at the pommel of his blade and the other on her throat.  Lalen’s heart finally roused in her chest and, half awake and half aware, she instinctively pulled mana from her body to drive him back.

In the same breath the templar’s magic was around her, a suffocating chain.  She scrambled up, back, away, but found the corner that she had sought for protection from the elements had become her prison.

_ He knew.  That blighted dwarf. _

“Stop,” the templar said with no uncertainty.  This was not a typical Chantry grunt.  The stance was the same, the magic identical, but he wore a crimson overcoat with a ruff of fur along the collar.  Its meaning escaped her unless it was looted to protect against the cold, but more likely it designated him as holding some position of authority within the templar ranks.  She recognized it from their charge up the mountain towards the temple.  His words were not kind, his attitude hostile.

_ Stop struggling, you mean. _

Her hand found her sword in the frost beside her but he reached it first and tossed it further out of range.  He did not draw his own blade but the large templar’s shield came to his hand and drove her into the frozen ground with his full weight behind it.

“Stop.  I don’t wish you harm,” he said with the barest taste of anger in his voice.  “What’s your name?”

Emptiness washed across Lalen’s mind.   _ Not all men are cruel, but those with authority seem to find it the easiest.   _ With the mage rebellion, dragging her to a Circle was not an option, but those roaming the hills around Haven did not seem to be killing mages on sight.  Lalen prayed to any god that might be listening that he truly meant his words.  She ceased her struggles beneath the metal plate and met his golden gaze.

The anger in his eyes dulled to confusion with her sudden surrender.  “Your name, mage,” he repeated.  His voice had inexplicably softened.

“Curly, it’s too late at night for interrogations,” came the yawning voice of the Tethras dwarf.

“This elf was over here in the corner making noises like a wounded nug,” the templar responded, cautiously releasing his shield pinning Lalen down.  “I came to check on her and she attacked me.”

“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?  You don’t exactly exude timidness with your lion’s mane and insistence on wearing full armor in a walled village.”  Varric stumbled into view, slightly shivering beneath his open tunic.  “Maker’s breath, Curly, that’s the mute one.  I know you killed all the mages in Kirkwall but try to leave some alive just on principle, would you?”

“This is the Dalish that came with the Herald?” the man asked in surprise as Lalen slipped out from underneath his shield and put her back to the palisade.  “I thought she was given shelter.”

“She didn’t seem to like my offer,” Varric said with increasing disinterest.  “Come on, hero.  You can stay in my tent tonight.  That should keep you from attacking any more former Knight-Captains until morning.”  He and the templar disappeared again without looking to see if she would follow.  

She did not.


	7. Affliction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Maker spoke. He showed her all the works of His hands: the Fade, the world, and all the creatures therein. He showed her how men had forgotten Him, lavishing devotion upon mute idols and demons, and how He had left them to their fate. But her voice had reached Him, and so captivated Him that He offered her a place at His side, that she might rule all of creation._
> 
>  
> 
> _But Andraste would not forsake her people._
> 
>  
> 
> \--from the Sermons of Justinia II

_ My duty is to protect my people,  _ Thenera remembered thinking as she packed her meager belongings. Lalen sat silently next to her, her friend’s agitation and anxiety palpable.  _ Even if it means going to this Conclave surrounded by templars.  _

_ “We are there to observe, not interfere, _ ” she recalled telling her reluctant companion. “ _ Two hooded elves in a sea of faces will make no difference and draw little attention. It will be simple.” _

Oh, how wrong she had been. 

Overnight, Thenera’s world tilted on its axis. Before the Conclave her role  _ was  _ simple: she was the First of Clan Lavellan, on a simple mission to gather more information about the ongoing conflict tearing through Thedas. After the Conclave...things became much more complicated.  

Despite Roderick’s, and even Thenera’s, insistence otherwise some of the local  _ shemlen _ began speculating that their Maker had a hand in the elf’s unlikely survival. Whispers of her being the ‘Herald of Andraste’ began. To many, the scar that marred her left hand proved that she was indeed god touched. 

_ Perhaps Deshanna was right and Fen’Harel has a terrible sense of humor,  _ she thought bitterly. 

The Herald quickly gained a reputation around Haven for having an uncanny ability to not make a sound as she moved through the village. Some said she even took delight in spooking unwary villagers. Truthfully, Thenera never went out of her way to frighten the people of Haven. It was that her old habits of treading softly around humans,  _ especially  _ Chantry forces, were ones she was unwilling to break.

All too often, a shopkeeper would glance up and startle when confronted with what she could only imagine as a sight straight from a human's nightmares: Wide set amethyst eyes were framed by Falon’Din’s  _ vallaslin _ , her skin darkened from days spent in the sun. Long, pointed ears peeked from her unkempt silver hair. It fell to her waist, peppered with leaves and twigs more often than not from where she wandered off in search of herbs or wild game for supper. 

The staff that arched up and over the elven woman's shoulder did few favors, but she never saw the same level of disgust in their eyes when the people of Haven looked upon a mage of their own kind. Thenera was foreign and alien to them. So much so that she, and others of her ilk, were seen as inferior and the elves who lived among humans were no better than slaves. Now one of the  _ savage  _ knife ears was being named the Herald of their most holy prophet and it terrified those that remained from the Chantry.

Clan Lavellan was all too familiar with what frightened  _ shemlen _ were capable of.

Shaking herself from such thoughts, she made her way toward the apothecary. As far as humans went, Adan was not frightened by her appearance and never treated Thenera any differently. When she handed him the recipe for lyrium draughts he had been worrying over, the man grunted his thanks and sent her on her way as though she were just another messenger. None of that ‘Your Worship’ nonsense from him, thankfully.

The soldiers and templars were another matter entirely. Thenera felt their eyes wherever she went in the small village. The guards were polite enough when she asked for information about the town, but many kept a cautious distance from her. Thenera saw the truth behind their feigned reverence in the narrowed eyes and venomous whispers that stalked after her like the Dread Wolf himself. 

The elf nursed a sneaking suspicion that either Seeker Pentaghast or Commander Cullen left a standing order that mages were to be observed by at least one templar at any given time. One mage hunter shadowed her steps when she visited Varric or Lalen, but another tended to materialize whenever Thenera approached Solas’ cottage. Her cynicism was confirmed when a second armored gentleman appeared near Solas' cabin alongside the first. Both watched her warily as she started towards the other mage.

_ So they feel it necessary to keep an eye or two on the elven apostates,  _ she thought, familiar anger boiling to the surface. The air around her began to reek of ozone and Thenera clenched her fists, fighting the urge to electrocute both of them. The old mantra Lalen gave when they were younger sprung to mind.  _ Be silent, unseen. _

Solas also took note of the extra scrutiny. Upon meeting Thenera's eyes, he gestured towards the door to his cabin. She scowled at the mage hunters before turning her back and walking towards Solas with her head held high. He held the door open for her, closing it firmly behind them before making his way to the small hearth nestled at the back of the cottage. A kettle sat atop a bed of coals, steam just beginning to trickle from the spout.

“I’m afraid I do not have much to offer aside from tea,” Solas said. 

“Tea is perfectly fine,” Thenera replied. She smiled politely. “I’m partial to elfroot blends, myself. Less bitter.”

“On the rare occasion I drink it, I would tend to agree.” The kettle started to whistle shrilly, and Solas busied himself with getting two clay mugs out of the cupboard. Scalding hot water poured over the herbs at the bottom, turning the liquid a muted green. "So, they have named a Dalish the Chosen of Andraste." 

Thenera's eyes glittered with amusement. "And here I am without my golden halla."

He placed a steaming cup down in front of her, sitting across from her. Solas gave a strained smile. His eyes shifted to the window every so often, where the two armored men were hidden just out of sight. The Chantry presence here seemed to unnerve him nearly as much it did her.

"I would have suggested a griffon," Solas replied easily, "but sadly they are extinct." All traces of humor left his face, replaced with a grim countenance. "Joke as you will, posturing is necessary." 

“It’s going to be a viper’s nest,” she muttered. “And here I am, blundering through the undergrowth.”

“The beginning of organizations such as these are always unstable.” His fingers idly stroked the cup in his hands, gaze focused out the window on the distant mountain peaks. “Andraste did not possess a mark, yet raised a great institution through subtle maneuvering.”

“And where did a hedge mage learn such things?” Thenera smirked, taking another sip of her drink. “You sound like Leliana when she talks about the Orlesian’s game.”

“Spirits seek to reflect our world, and politicking remains a vital part of both old world and new. I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations.” Staring off to the side, the man seemed to become lost in his own thoughts. The cadence of his voice was comforting, while the words were utterly enthralling. “I've watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten." Solas' piercing blue eyes turned back to Thenera, narrowing as he took her measure. "Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be."

_ He’s a dreamer.  _ Thenera nearly choked on her tea. 

“‘Not awful’ is what I’m striving for.” She clasped her hands in her lap to hide their shaking.  _ Far enough away from Deshanna’s ears to ask questions, and an opinion untouched by superstitions. Maybe this mission will bear fruit after all. _ Fighting to keep her tone even, the elf set her cup down. “So you just lay down in the middle of some ancient ruin and go to sleep? Isn’t that a tad...unwise?”

Solas smirked. “I  _ do  _ set wards. And so long as one leaves food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

She leaned forward, eyes alight with curiosity. “I’ve never met another  _ somniari _ ,” she breathed.  _ Oh, what I wouldn’t give to spend five minutes in his head. To see what he’s discovered… _ “I’ve only ever seen fragments, mere shadows of memories. To go that far into the Beyond...that’s extraordinary.”

“You flatter me,” Solas said wryly. He glanced out the window again, rigid posture betraying the facade of calm. “I apologize. One can never be too careful when surrounded by Chantry ears.” After a moment and the templars remained hidden out of sight, his attention returned to her. “It is odd a Dalish would use the Tevene word for the ability. Such gifts are rare, yet not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning.”

“Lalen taught it to me when we were younger,” she replied. “Children learn to call storms easily enough. And while fire has its charm, it burns indiscriminately.”

“Ah, but the thrill from finding the remnants of a thousand year old dream? I would not trade that for anything.” His shoulders relaxed slightly and he leaned back, long fingers tapping at the edge of his mug. The corner of his lips quirked. “I will stay then. At least until the Breach has been closed.”

“Were you really planning on leaving so soon,  _ hahren? _ ” she asked playfully. “The fun’s just started.”

“As an elven apostate surrounded by Chantry forces, I’m sure you can understand the urge to flee,  _ dalen _ .” Solas took a drink of his tea and grimaced. “While I have a vague understanding of it, I am not protected by your divine mark.” Setting his mug to the side, he steepled his fingers on the table in front of him. “From what I have seen and heard, they seem to be much heavier handed in regard to apostates with our particular…” His lip curled in distaste. “ _ Affliction. _ ”

“Something some Dalish clans have in common with the Chantry, it seems.” Thenera set the cup off to the side and stood from the table. “As much as I would like to stay, I am expected for the Inquisition’s war council. We’ll be riding for the Hinterlands in three days.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw the glint of platemail. The mage hunters were growing impatient. “Would it be alright if I visited you? Where we might talk without being overheard?”

Blue eyes flickered to the window before meeting hers again. “I...would like that.” Despite the templars, he smiled. “ _ Dareth shiral, dalen. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the enormous hiatus. Enjoy!


	8. Touch of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at the Hinterlands to fighting between mage and templar. Lalen confirms Varric's suspicions.

Two weeks of travel.  That was how long it took the Inquisition to blunder along the coast of Lake Calenhad to meet the blighted Chantry woman in the Maker-forsaken Hinterlands.  By the time they were greeted by a scout with dire news of templar/mage combat in the area, Lalen had begun to wonder whether the Breach in the sky truly even needed their attention.

If they had to prance about proving to everyone that they were an organization worth helping AND the fighting had not even diminished, then the sky must not be such a pressing issue.  It seemed to her from the gossip about the camp, at least, that people simply no longer wanted to look at it.

But they set up camp as they had planned - Lalen and Thenera bunking as far away from Cassandra as was possible - and set about fixing the world.

Thenera left the Seeker at the camp to manage things, which left three elven apostates and a dwarf to head to the Crossroads to speak with Mother Giselle.  One day the world would read of the heretics that tried to save them  _ but at least they were diverse. _

Lalen was now quite encumbered by the heavier armor Cassandra insisted she be outfitted in.  She had finally named her sword Dog after it persistently returned to her after five unsuccessful attempts to dispose of it.  Twice a well-meaning Inquisition agent returned it to her and three times she simply found it thrust in with the camp’s equipment when she tried to find a smaller blade.

Varric helpfully filled their walk with complaints about the mud, comments on the slightly warmer weather, and various renditions of a sarcastically muttered, “It’s a good thing we brought a proper soldier with us.  I’d hate to get stuck in combat with just a bunch of mages to protect me.”

Thenera kept her focus on the road and largely seemed to be ignoring his running commentary.  As a result, she had her staff in her hand well before Lalen noticed men on the path ahead of them fighting some of their own people.

“Templars,” the Dalish first warned.

“What are they doing here?” Varric breathed, drawing Bianca.

“I believe they mean to prevent us from reaching the refugees,” Solas responded.

Lalen drew her sword and darted forward as Thenera’s flames began to engulf the three armored men.  Solas, mercifully, kept her shielded from many of their attacks and what blows he could not block clanked uselessly against her unfamiliar armor.  Not unexpectedly, she was not able to get beyond their defense and served mainly to distract their focus and their shields until her ranged companions and the other Inquisition soldiers could dispatch them.

“Not bad,” Varric chuckled when the fighting ceased.  “It’s almost like you trained with that sword.”

“A sword seems heavier than a stave,” Thenera said wryly. “With the proper equipment, Lalen is a force to be reckoned with.”

Solas interrupted with a low warning.  “It seems they were otherwise engaged before we disrupted.”

The fighting was proving to be as bad - if not worse - than the scout’s description.  Further up the path, mages were now spilling out of cover towards them.  Thenera’s attempts at battlefield diplomacy were lost beneath the hiss of incoming magic.

Lalen channeled her growing frustration into her charge.  These mages, these templars...they could have ceased to fight at any time...hidden,  _ left _ ...but they seemed insistent on killing one another on mere principle.  Mages became undetectable when they stopped throwing lightning for half a second and could blend in literally anywhere.

Instead the whole lot of them were destroying the countryside.  Fences, fields, buildings, homes were  _ on fire.   _ And at the center…people.  Just plain people trying to grow crops or bake bread.

She had enough pressure building in her chest that she felt she could wipe them from the earth if her brain just stopped moving so damned  _ slow _ .  Instead, she took their punishment face first wrapped in layers of Solas’s shields and years of pain tolerance.  A week and a half of being cooped up among people channeled into Dog and she managed to send one mage gurgling to the ground.  To her right, one peppered with two arrows was on fire  _ because they just did not stop. _

_ You were freed, you bastards.  Go live your Maker-damned lives. _

Out of sheer habit, lost in the shuffle of combat and struggling thought, she threw a shield around Varric just in time to partially deflect a bolt of ice headed his way from freezing him solid.

“So you are a mage,” he said, shivering and brushing icicles from his clothing.  “Maybe that sword really is your calling.”

Lalen sighed and gave up her charade, knocking an unsuspecting mage to the ground with a weak blast.  A young bow user looked to her in surprise.  Solas seemed equally as stunned and looked to Thenera for explanation -- but she was too busy setting the entire path aflame as  _ more templars _ entered the fray.

As adamant as they seemed to be to fight one another, they seemed even more intent on stopping the Inquisition from getting to the refugees.  With this much resistance, though, Lalen was starting to wonder how anyone - Mother Giselle included - could still possibly be alive in the whole of the Hinterlands.

But she pressed on, sword returning to parry and magic bottled up in the presence of templars.  There was no need to make herself a target if a well-placed shot soured the combat and put them at their mercy.

Minutes of combat easily felt like hours and when they finally cut a swath through the bodies to the Crossroads, Lalen was utterly exhausted and covered in misguided entrails.  As much as the two of them feared the Seeker, it was starting to look like too dangerous an area to leave the woman at camp.

“You should probably clean some of that off before you scare the locals,” Thenera said. “What did Deshanna always say about appearances?” She patted Lalen’s shoulder as she passed. “I’ll be right back.”

Solas seemed utterly enthralled by Thenera and followed her like a faithful hound as she made her way through the camp leaving the two of them on their own.  The Dalish elf held her composure well: back straight, shoulders back, stride even...but Lalen could sense the fear in her.

A few soldiers had put up a sign with the flaming sword-eye insignia.  Some squiggles that Lalen recognized as words were with it and she spent some time staring at it while Varric tended to Bianca.  She finally looked away from the sign to find him watching her, weak smile on his face.

Much to her chagrin, he continued to follow her on her quest for nothing-in-particular.  Having never owned a set of armor, she was unsure what was required to maintain blood-spattered metal and ended up wandering aimlessly throughout the camp to catch snippets of conversation.  Back in her clan, she had been largely ignored and here was no different.

“Can you even tell when you get wounded?” Varric questioned after a few minutes of meandering.

She only shrugged.  More than likely she would notice a life threatening injury but she made it her business not to be in combat in the first place.  This was the first she intentionally put herself toe-to-toe with  _ anyone _ , let alone allowing blows to fall to her person.  If the armor held, she would be fine.

“So, what, you just strip down after fights and make sure everything’s in tact?” he asked. “Good to know.”

It took Lalen a moment to realize that he may have meant it as a sexual innuendo, perhaps now imagining her stripped of her clothing.  This was, of course, assuming the man lusted outside his race and was not just being flirtatious on principle.

...and then his chuckling drew attention to the fact that she was smoothing her hair to make herself presentable.  Thenera had pointed that tendency out to her - but years of training were difficult to overcome.

Feeling warmth of blush, she directed her attention back to the refugees.  From the sound of the gossip, they were barely maintaining and the fighting prevented them from even simple scavenging.  The Breach had only made their situation worse as rifts began to open around the area.

People were hungry.  People were cold.  People were being mistreated.  Mages were feared, elves were feared.  It was the same here as all across Thedas.

Varric seemed to be attentive, but the expression on his face appeared indecisive.  Where he had welcomed her readily on the first day, he now held a colder smile.  He would likely leave her company soon.

“So what inspires a mage to hide her magic when her companions show it freely?  Maybe you didn’t hear, but all the circles rebelled.  The templars can’t drag you anywhere.”

Lalen brushed into the corner of a low wall and practically knocked herself over trying to understand his words.  What inspired her to pretend to be a fighter?  Her magic was weak...barely enough for the simplest of tasks.  Whether she used her staff in melee or carried a sword, she contributed very little to combat.   _ So why is he so concerned with what I use to hurt people? _

She touched the handle of her sword as if that would somehow answer the question, and then realized she was completely lost.  Varric was watching her, perhaps knowing the situation as she glanced around at the unfamiliar terrain in alarm.  Which way had Thenera gone?  Which way had they even come in?

And then growing dread.  What if Thenera was unable to find her?  What if she had to progress Inquisition business and simply left the Hinterlands?  Lalen had no way to communicate who she was or where she was going...

Her breathing was coming faster now, matching the hammering in her chest.  She could hunt, certainly, but she could not pass through the templars unscathed.   _ They would find her, punish her, drag her - _

“Hero!” Varric was in front of her now, hands on her arms and a smile playing again at his lips.  Was he trying to reassure her or was he laughing at her fear? “Just breathe.  She’s not going to leave you here.”

Breathing slowed to his soft words and she found him leading her across chaotic pools of people until she could see Thenera and the quiet elf speaking with a merchant.

“Might need to get her a ball of twine in case the two of you get separated,” he said with a chuckle as he pushed Lalen towards Thenera.

The Dalish elf smiled and handed her a damp piece of cloth.

“Thought you might need some help there,” she said as Lalen obediently accepted it and began to wipe down her armor, all hint of the panic gone. “I spoke to Mother Giselle. She suggests we go to Orlais, Val Royeaux specifically.” Thenera paced restlessly. “She seems to think this mark on my hand will encourage their clerics to listen but I’m not so sure.”

Lalen watched her movements and barely heard her words.  Orlais was where Roderick would have seen her executed.  Returning there could well be suicide.

“That mark could convince some people to listen,” Varric said, eyeing Thenera’s marked hand.  “People love a cause.”

Thenera heaved a sigh as she unfolded a small map.  “Well, let’s hope the horsemaster agrees.  Val Royeaux is a long way on foot.  Did you hear anything,  _ lethallan? _ ”

_ What had she heard?   _ Lalen took the parchment from her and squinted at it until she was able to figure out their location.  She pointed west at a bridge and touched her sword, then east towards a small bottleneck formed by the landscape and touched her coin purse to indicate reports of bandits.

“Great,” Thenera said sarcastically.  “That bridge may be the only way to the farms.  No wonder the scouts couldn’t get through with the Templars taking up so much space.  Any rifts?”

Lalen squinted at the map.  She knew there were some to the north but no idea how far, so she gestured in the general area, and then outlined the whole area in front of the bridge.  To hear people speak of it, the area was littered with demons.  There might be one rift or there might be a dozen.  The only way to be sure would be to explore the whole area.

“Alright, then we’ll push through to the farms and then get the  one to the north on the way back.”

“Do the two of you always talk in charades?” Varric asked, looking between them.

“Does it bother you?” came the response.

Solas seemed attentive to their conversation and his lips twitched with hidden opinions.

“I could think of an easier way,” the dwarf said, tapping the scribe’s pouch hanging at his belt.  A thin smile was at his lips.  It was almost as if he knew of her illiteracy.

Thenera turned away and began walking south, or at least that was Lalen’s guess based on the sun’s location and some barely remembered words about which direction it rose and set.

“So not  _ all  _ Dalish are taught to read and write,” Varric said, shuffling after her.  “Good to know.”

Thenera turned to him, brushing pale strands of hair from her face.  “Varric...the Conclave, my mark, and the Inquisition may be subjects for your books but please leave the Dalish and my companion out of it.”

“Every good hero has a sidekick,” Varric said with a shrug.  His eyes fell on Solas still standing stoically behind Thenera.  “Although it looks to me like you’re working on two.”

“I am here the same as you are,” he replied cooly.  “The breach in the sky must be dealt with.  Are you not also a sidekick, Master Tethras?”

Varric laughed.  “No, Chuckles, I’m just the narrator.”

“You will need to narrate more quietly, then,” Solas said, striding after Thenera.  “A small group moving silently will be more capable of making it through the fighting.  Two disciplined mages and a resistant dwarf will be more than they are used to handling out here.”

“Three mages,” Varric corrected.  He took steps to follow and almost ran into the bald elf as he paused to turn back with a condescending smile.

“Perhaps you missed introductions,” he said with a grim smile.  “The mute one is a warrior.”

Lalen had a dead ram with her when Thenera signaled for the Inquisition to form a new campsite by a large lake.  They were not far from where her companion had closed a rift hours earlier but the soldiers meticulously swept the area for any lingering rift flotsam before pitching tents.  Cassandra seemed sour when Thenera gave her report on Mother Giselle’s advice but agreed to escort her back to Haven with the next supply caravan.

It took Lalen a while to catch Thenera’s eye to communicate to her that she intended the ram for the people at the Crossroads - and a bit longer for Thenera to flag down someone willing to drag it over there for them.  The creature would not go far to feed so many refugees, but it had been killed in the crossfire with the rift’s spawn and Lalen could not bear to leave good meat to rot.

They did not leave the camp again that evening, and the two of them shared a one-man tent as night fell.  Lalen curled protectively around the smaller woman as she sighed away the day.  Days had been coming too quickly, with the threat of death leading quickly to strange magic, demons, Chantry, and now the Inquisition who - if memory served - marched on elves.  Twice.

She willed herself awake until her companion had drifted to sleep despite her own exhaustion after a day of wielding Dog’s still alien weight.  Her muscles probably throbbed beneath the hum of pain from her mark but on the surface they only felt stiff.  In time, even that would fade.

Thenera did not come to her that night.  Only fear and nightmare waited for her eyes to close:

_ Thenera, bound.  We must stop the dreams, lethallan.   _

_ Cullen holds her by the throat in one calloused hand.  We must stop the Dread Wolf. _

_ Cassandra wields the glowing brand.   We must stop Fen’Harel’s Whore. _


	9. Chimera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actual procedure, like the Harrowing, is secret, but the results are just as well known. The rite severs connection to the Fade. The Tranquil, therefore, do not dream. This removes the greatest danger that threatens a weak or unprepared mage, the potential to attract demons across the Veil. But this is the least of Tranquility's effects, for the absence of dreams brings with it the end of all magical ability, as well as all emotion.  
> \--  
>  _On Tranquility and the Role of the Fade in Human Society,_ First Enchanter Josephus

It’s so cold _._ _Snow churns and trees groan under the wicked gusts of wind._ I don’t want to be cold anymore _. Blind and deaf, Thenera stumbles forward into the icy Void_. _She puts one foot in front of the other, yet makes little progress. A desolate tundra stretches out before her and exhaustion settles onto her shoulders. She collapses to her knees._ I could just lay down, fall asleep…It would be so simple.

_ A hand closes around her throat. “These dreams are dangerous,  _ da’len _ ,” Deshanna whispers. “You have to understand. We must hold to tradition, to protect the clan.” The aged elven woman morphs into Cassandra. “We have to stop the dreams,  _ lethallan _.” _

_ The Seeker steps away, and Commander Cullen takes her place. Black vines unfurl from the ground and wrap tight around Thenera’s limbs.  _

_ “Like father, like daughter,” the Commander snarls, but it was not the man’s true voice. It was too high pitched and lacked Cullen’s Fereldan accent. “A spoiled seed bears rotten fruit.” Though the voice is peculiar, the words are achingly familiar. Her stomach clenches, and she trembles violently. For some reason, she feels as though she’s forgotten something very important. “We must stop the Dread Wolf. This is the only way to  _ be sure. _ ” _

_ Cassandra wields the sunburst brand, and Cullen holds the elf still. Thenera’s eyes widen.  _

_“Why?”_ _she gasps. Her throat closes while her pulse roars in her ears._ Leave me for the blizzard and be done with it, _she wants to beg. Terror coils in her belly and the storm rages around them._ I’ll die properly this time, anything but this. _The mark on her left hand flares defiantly, jade shadows stark against the snow. The brand inches ever closer to her forehead. “I never asked for any of this.”_

_ “Then prove yourself free of your father’s sin.” Deshanna leers over Cullen’s shoulder, claw like fingers tangled in the human’s mantle. The Keeper’s grin is malevolent, eyes wild. “If you are worthy of your title, the gods will surely smile upon you.” Bloody tears trickle down her cheeks. “Cry out to them,  _ da’len _. And pray they take mercy upon you before Fen’Harel hears your steps.” _

_Thenera blinks and instead of the glowing metal sunburst, a statue of the Dread Wolf looms tall and imposing over her head. Two eyes multiply to four, then six and all glow a malevolent red. The grey statue slowly melts into a familiar, more sinister creature._ _It seethes like the dark waters of an abyss, shadow given physical form. Wicked, razor fangs gleam from pockets of hungry muzzles that howl excitedly, nearly drowning out the blizzard’s roar. She shivers with the memory of slavering jaws clamping down, thousands of crimson eyes staring, always_ staring.

_ “There is no point in running,  _ da’len _ ,” the Dread Wolf snarls. “I have your scent now.” _

_ She tries to will herself awake but wind and snow slash across the elf’s face instead. Fen’Harel laughs and the magic in her hand explodes. Burnt husks materialize, littering the ground and creating fields of smoldering corpses.  _

Faces, so many faces. Lives snuffed out in a fraction of a second, leaving only a moment for the horrid realization that this was the end _ \-- The pain steals Thenera’s breath. Bile rushes up the back of her throat, heart racing in panic.  _ Creators, please! This wasn’t what I wanted!

_ Thenera recoils, snow crunching under her bare feet, but the darkness rushes across the ground and twines itself around one of her legs. A scream dies in her throat, strangled by another sudden surge of agony from her arm. The mark pulses angrily. Every one of the corpses surges upright. Hollow eye sockets turn to glower at her, the souls of the murdered screaming for justice.  _

“Elgara vallas, da’len.” _ A deep and lyrical voice rings out abruptly, piercing through the screams with ease.  _ “Melava somniar, mala taren aravas.” _ Something about the song resonates deep within Thenera, and the nightmare freezes. Drifting snowflakes standstill and the howling winds are suddenly silent.  _ “Ara ma’desen melar.”

_ Her mark falls dormant, yet phantom aches and pains remain. The only movement comes from the apparition of the Dread Wolf, twisting and curling upon itself and multiple eyes ever focused on the slight elf in its grasp.  _

“Iras ma ghilas, da’len, ara ma’nedan ashir? _ ” The man’s voice reverberates with power, song lilting and haunting in its familiarity. “ _ Dirthara lothlenan’as bal emma mala dir.”  _ Slowly, darkness recedes from her and the shadows begin to lose their shape.  _ “Tel’enfenim, da’len, irassal ma ghilas.”  _ The Dread Wolf disintegrates, corpses cracking and falling into ash.  _ “Ma garas mir renan. Ara ma’athlan vhenas.”

Follow my voice, I will guide you home. 

_ She does not question this sudden clarity. Free from the Wolf’s grasp, Thenera shakily stands. Warmth seeps into her limbs as the horizon gradually lightens. The snow melts as blinding sunlight peeks over the mountaintops, trickles of warm pinks and oranges driving away any remaining darkness. Distantly, she hears someone calling her name. _

_ “ _ Ara ma’athlan vhenas…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another dream sequence. Hooray. Can you tell I'm a big fan of italics? >.>  
> Should be getting to some more meat soon enough. 
> 
> _Lullaby Lyrics_  
>  Sun sets, little one. Time to dream. Your mind journeys, but I will hold you here.  
> Where will you go, little one, lost to me in sleep? Seek truth in a forgotten land deep within your heart.  
> Never fear, little one, wherever you shall go. Follow my voice--I will call you home.  
> I will call you home.


	10. Unchecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thenera loses control of her mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _They form nightmares tearing away the foundations of self and purpose. When brought into the world, they are most attracted to places the downtrodden populate: alienages, slums, prisons, and the like. The miasma they spread can lead to extreme behavior. We look for a rash of unexplained suicides, men and women so filled with grief they lash out. The most intelligent of these creatures are to be feared, for they not only feed on despair, they understand its causes... and seek to bring it about. From the shadows they ruin lives, drinking the tears of those who have no idea the cause of their misery is not random chance._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> —From a lecture by renowned hunter, Ser Hayward of the Templar Order

It was still dark when Thenera woke. The Fade dissipated slowly, leaving her groggy and disoriented. Muted sounds from camp drifted into the tent when she sat up. Instinctively, she reached out for Lalen but felt only warmth where her companion had lain next to her. She could not have been gone long, but her absence still left Thenera with a feeling of unease.

_ Did they take her?  _ Thenera’s grip on the furs tightened. While the panic was second nature, she fought to clear her mind.  _ No, they have no reason to.  _ The elf took a deep, centering breath.  _ Maybe she couldn’t sleep and went out to look for food? _

The flap opened abruptly, and Lalen stormed through dragging a fully dressed but disheveled looking Varric Tethras behind her. 

“I’m not as good at charades as I used to be,” the dwarf said sleepily, “but Hero here seemed pretty bent out of shape over something about your hand.” He yawned, scratching his chest absently. Bianca was in his other hand, held loose by his side. “But I don’t see any demons or rifts, so that’s a good sign.”

Lalen stuck her head out the tent flap before retreating and moving to Thenera’s side. Her friend took her hand and shifted it so her palm lay upward. The other elf’s eyes were intense, boring into hers, shaky fingers brushing insistently over the scar. It throbbed dully.

In the dream, the mark had reacted to her nightmare.  _ That’s what woke her...  _ Thenera lowered her head, ashamed.  _ I lost control. _

The flap shuffled again. 

“All is well, Herald?” Cassandra’s voice was thick with sleep. Even still, the woman’s shield and blade were held at the ready. The sunburst lyrium brand still fresh in her mind, Thenera shuddered. “A scout reported--”

“It was only magelight,” Thenera interrupted. The polite, in control mask slipped easily into place and she smiled warmly. “Lalen just woke earlier than I’m used to and her sudden disappearance startled me.” Her gaze met Varric’s. “It seems she wished for serah Tethras to join us on our morning forage. She’s taken quite an interest in that crossbow of his.”

“I can’t tell the difference between edible or poisonous plants, but deer should be simple enough.” The dwarf’s eyes sharpened and he grinned. “And I may or may not have been looking for an excuse to show Bianca off.”

“That is a relief.” Cassandra shifted awkwardly. “My apologies for the intrusion. I’ll make sure we are prepared to leave by the time you return.”

“ _ Ma serannas,  _ Seeker,” Thenera said softly. 

Once the woman had left, she dressed hastily. Forgoing her usual footwraps, she merely grabbed her staff and barrelled out of the tent. Varric whistled an unfamiliar tune as they made their way through camp, running into Solas along the way. 

_ Thank the Creators.  _ If anyone knew how to deal with the mark, it would be the hedge mage that studied it.  _ I just need to get him away from our handlers.  _

“Herald.” He inclined his head politely. An eyebrow quirked upon noticing Varric. “Child of the Stone.”

“Care to join our merry scavenging party, Chuckles?” Varric’s voice held a slight tint of sarcasm to it. “Surprised you’re up this early. Thought you’d be the type to sleep in.” 

“If this were any other time, you would be correct.” Solas fell into step behind them. “However, I have found it unwise to sleep heavily while camped inside an ongoing conflict.”

They trudged through wild undergrowth, the elves stopping occasionally to pick edible berries. Varric filled the silence with stories of Kirkwall’s Champion that left even Solas with a grin on his face. Once they were well enough away from the Inquisition camp, Thenera slowed. She fell into step beside her clanmate. 

“I need your help,” Thenera said softly. Lalen glanced over at her, tilting her head. “It requires a distraction.”

Lalen lifted a hand up to her waist.

“Yes, the dwarf.” Thenera paused, making a show of picking berries from a nearby bush when the hedge mage turned to check on them. Once his attention returned to Varric, she continued. “I need to speak with Solas. Alone.”

Lalen’s eyes narrowed. Her hand reached out, lightly brushing over Thenera’s marked hand. 

“I can’t give the  _ shemlen _ a reason to think my magic isn’t under control,” Thenera murmured. Ahead of them, Varric laughed. He never looked back once. “He knows enough to keep it stabilized.”

Lalen’s mouth twisted, and the look on her face was one of healthy skepticism. In the end, she sighed and nodded her assent. Walking up to the dwarf, she tugged on his sleeve. The familiar mask of simplicity had fallen over her face, and she smiled warmly while gesturing towards Bianca.

“She’ll only get more insistent,” Thenera said with a laugh. “She’s always been fascinated by machines.” While the routine was familiar to them, Thenera always felt a pang of guilt. “Just be careful she doesn’t wander off.”

“Leave it to us, then,” Varric said with a smirk. He drew Bianca and tromped through the brush. “Come on, Hero. Maybe we’ll find some more rams for the refugees.”

Once the two disappeared into the forest, Thenera turned to find Solas staring at her. A slight smile tugged the corner of the man’s mouth, yet his eyes were wary.

“You wished to speak with me?” he said simply.

“I…” Thenera glanced towards where Lalen had disappeared. Their trick usually worked, and yet Solas saw through it. Taking a steadying breath, she met his gaze. “Yes. About the mark. I’m having trouble controlling it when I sleep.”

“How so?” The smile was gone, replaced by a look of alarm.

“It reacted to a nightmare I’ve had before,” Thenera replied. “I can normally wake myself, but this time…”  Bianca thrummed somewhere off to their left, followed by a ram’s bellow. “The mark seemed to amplify the dream’s hold, and I was trapped in the Beyond.” She busied herself by picking a few berries and pulling some stalks of errant elfroot. “My Keeper taught me to control magic, not dreams. I’ve figured out how to wake myself and how to create a makeshift dreamscape, but this was something else entirely.”

_ Stay calm, don’t panic.  _ Brushing a stray hair from her face, she crouched to peer at a cluster of deep mushrooms. They might go well in a stew of some kind.  _ He’ll be able to help. _ The herb satchel on her belt bulged from her harvest and she popped an excess mushroom into her mouth. These with some jerky would be more than enough to get her to Orlais’ border. Meeting the Chantry needed to happen sooner rather than later.  _ If anyone understands what’s at stake, it’s him. _

“You may have absorbed latent Fade magic from the Breach.” Solas’ nose scrunched, and Thenera could almost see the gears in the man’s mind turning frantically. “The mark has not spread?”

“No.” Thenera straightened. “And it doesn’t hurt like it did before sealing the Breach. But it woke Lalen during the night when I was trapped.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I need to learn how to control this before we reach Val Royeaux. I don’t want to give the Chantry another reason to try and execute me before I can put things right.”

“The human’s power structure has vaporized overnight,” Solas said solemnly. “They are likely to make rash decisions in search of an easy scapegoat, anything to bring back some semblance of order.” Another report from Varric’s crossbow echoed through the calm woodland. Solas glanced up momentarily before the wheels resumed turning. “This nightmare...you have experienced it before?” 

“Not like this.”  __ A larger than average wolf that occasionally stalked her dreams was nothing compared to the eldritch abomination that attacked her. “I’m sorry, I--”

“You do not need to apologize,” Solas interrupted gently. “You have endured much in a very short span of time.” A branch cracked and heavier steps than either Lalen or Varric’s came from the direction of their campgrounds. His eyes scanned the treeline behind her cautiously. “We will have to continue this discussion another time.”

“Lady Herald!” A young man in Inquisition armor charged into the small clearing.  His eyes were wild with panic, and Thenera felt a wave of dread wash over her. “A rift has formed in the camp!”

_ The mark…  _ Thenera put two fingers in her mouth and whistled as loudly as she could. Staff in hand, she darted past the soldier before breaking out into a steady jog towards the encampment.  _ Creators have mercy on us all. _

A gaping Fade rift hung over the tent the two elves had shared. Varric and Lalen came crashing through the undergrowth a few yards away. Cassandra shouted orders, now bearing full armor and launching herself where the fighting was thickest. Without any hesitation, Lalen threw herself at one of the hooded demons.

“Behind you, Hero!” Varric shouted. 

Lalen was just a second too late. The despair demon’s claws raked across her torso as it rushed past, but the woman was silent save for a pained grunt. Blood misted the air. Fire and adrenaline surged through Thenera’s veins and out from her fingertips, separating the demon from her companion. Solas was shouting somewhat, but she could not hear him through the pounding in her temples. 

All that mattered was Lalen.

Fade essence bled into the space between the two elves and Thenera’s hair stood on end. The distance sounds of battle became muted as her ears popped unpleasantly. Thin arms tipped with wicked claws sprung through the blackened earth, scrabbling desperately for purchase. They pulled a creature that conjured memories of rotten tree husks straight from the realm of nightmares into reality. A deafening shriek erupted from the monster’s gaping maw, making the elf’s ears ring. 

Thenera’s wall of flames died, concentration shattered. As though in answer to the demon’s call, another abomination skittered out from the Beyond behind her.  Electricity arced between the monsters, forcing one to turn and deal with Solas while the other towered over Thenera, undeterred. She barely managed to deflect the creature’s first blow, wood cracking from its raw strength. The second strike knocked it from her hands entirely.

Solas’ magic encased her like a cocoon when it reared back for another attack. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Despite the demon closing in on him, Solas focused what little mana he had left into the barrier. That alone was what kept her from being disemboweled with terror’s next strike.  

Behind the terror, Lalen knelt with her head bowed. Without the flames to deter it, despair turned its attention back to the motionless elf.  

_ You won't have her.  _ Despite the agony, she stood. Adrenaline surged, and she managed to dart past the creature blocking her path.  Shielding Lalen with her own body, Thenera murmured a soft prayer and clung to her friend. “Just hold on, everything will be--”

_ Cold. _

Ice slammed into Thenera’s back, stealing what little breath remained to her. Muscles tensed to the point of pain before falling numb. Blood was everywhere, slickening her hands and sinking into her leggings. She could not be sure how much of it was Lalen’s and how much was her own. After what seemed an eternity, the onslaught ceased as the demon took a deep breath. Stubbornly, she clung to Lalen tighter even while her mind screamed for her to flee. 

“Protect the Herald!” Cassandra yelled. Thenera heard the demon scream, but the Seeker’s shield merely groaned in protest against another assault of hail. “Varric, get the horses!” Bianca sang and despair shrieked. “Solas, get her to the Crossroads! We will cover your escape.”

Lalen’s eyes fluttered and her fingers twitched to life against Thenera’s thigh. Slowly, she lifted her head with a look of alarm. Her eyes flitted down to Thenera’s stomach and her mouth dropped in horror. 

_ She’s safe… _ Black spots danced in Thenera’s vision, but she smiled. The world began to weave. Pain faded into a pleasant numbness, muscles lax when someone lifted her up.  _ Everything will be alright. _

“ _ Fenedhis, _ ” Solas hissed, wrapping one arm gingerly around her waist. He was careful not to touch her wound. The other wrestled with the reigns of his terrified mount. “Hold on,  _ da’len. _ This is not where your story ends.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who else loved that random level 11/12 rift that pops up over near Dennett's? 
> 
> 0/10 Would not recommend.


	11. Not Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elfroot was first used by the elves of Arlathan, hence the name. The root gave their medicines particular efficacy, so when the Imperium conquered the elves, the magisters adopted its use and its popularity spread to all corners of the empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a first draft, and as such is probably garbage. Enjoy :)

Bright red blood rushed down Lalen’s fingers.  Her armor had deflected most of the despair demon’s claws but one had raked across the exposed flesh at her throat.  Just barely enough.   _ Just barely enough to kill her. _

Trembling, she dropped her sword mid-movement, mid-combat, mid-thought -- hoping desperately that she would have just a few moments to heal herself before the blood loss to her brain sent her into dreamless sleep.

If only her brain weren’t already

So.

Damn.

_ Slow. _

The world vanished into furious focus and she tried to sense the damage to repair.  It was faint - almost too deep to heal - but it was there.  Flesh knit itself back together at desperate insistence as the battle seethed around her -

\- and abruptly came back to the forefront of thought in a tangled mass of limbs.  Thenera was sprawled across her, skin clammy against the heat of fear.

Lalen’s blood froze in her veins - the brief rise of panic before the Herald’s breasts heaved with air - and she reached out with the magic still remaining to her and  _ pulled.   _ She had done it exactly one other time - shortly after she and the First met - and she had been immediately told that only untrained mages need to pull wounds to themselves to heal them, and to never do so again.

_ Apologies, Thenera, but your Creators need your life more than mine. _

The blood soaking the First’s belly slowed as the wounds pinched closed beneath the fabric of her torn tunic.  Not enough to heal, but enough to save.  Maybe.

A wall of hair came to a stop.  A horse, fifteen hands tall, with Solas springing from its back.  He focused only on Thenera, brow furrowed in anger, and lifted her to the mount.  Her eyes were already closed and she dangled almost lifelessly in the saddle.

“ _ Dirthara ma, _ ” he muttered.

He lept onto its back, situated just behind Thenera, before spurring the creature onward and away from combat.  The Herald, at least, would be safe.

Lalen barely had time to turn before she felt an arm wrap around her, hoisting her up into the air onto a second horse.  Cassandra held the reins.  She spurred the horse straight through the center of the fighting to slice a demon’s head from its shoulders two feet away from where Varric was pinned down, Bianca yards away.

Cassandra leaned down and out, snagging the dwarf’s duster in one hand as they cantered past.  Lalen instinctively reinforced the grip only to have the Seeker lose hers and throw an arm around the elf to support their combined weight.

Lalen grasped the saddle’s horn with all the strength she could muster in one hand.  Varric was  _ heavy.   _ He was unable get a grip on the blood-soaked leather of the pommel and simply dangled, swearing, from Lalen’s weakening sword arm.  The horse was compensating but it was stumbling on the uneven terrain from their uneven weight distribution.   _ They needed to stop. _

“Just hold on, Varric,” the Seeker encouraged him, voice raised over the sounds of screams, battle cries, and pounding hoofbeats.  She briefly released her support of Lalen and pulled low to the side to drag Varric clumsily up.  The moment was almost too much.  Varric’s weight tore Lalen sideways and she finally felt burning pressure keening into her head louder than the daily dose numbing her thoughts.  She remained doubled over protectively, metal armor forcing stolen wounds into strange forms.

Demons had closed off their escape towards the Crossroads.  They were riding the only direction open to them and curling around the waterfall’s mouth, which meant finding a mage was completely off the table.  If they had rescued some Lyrium potions she could try to heal herself again but not while they rode.  It took too much focus and she could not block out the movement.

“Uh, Seeker, I appreciate the rescue but shouldn’t we be trying to get as far away as possible?” Varric asked, fumbling around in his duster with the hand not desperately holding onto onto the horse.

“The scouts saw a small wooden structure this way.  It will protect us while we regroup,” she explained swiftly.

Lalen was struggling to focus on their words.  Her brain was more fog than image and her body was beginning to give way beneath shuddering muscle.  Every thud of the horse’s hooves jostled careful positioning and she felt bile finally rise to her throat.

She almost fell from the horse as she retched over the side; Cassandra barely steadied her in time.  The potions given to her by Adan had apparently broken during the fight; she could feel the remains still in her belt.

“Hero,” came Varric’s husky voice as he passed a glass vial back to her.

She tried to uncork it with shaking hands but the horse’s canter across the uneven terrain jostled it out of her fingers.   _ Kaffas.   _ At least Thenera was safe.  Solas had carried her off towards the Crossroads; she would be protected.

The horse slowed at Cassandra’s direction as they rounded the small lake’s edge.  Rickety docks led to a small but tidy shack; no occupant was in sight.

“I will return to see if anyone is still alive,” Cassandra said, and then her tone changed.  “Stay  _ here _ , Varric.”

“No arguments here, Seeker.  Just bring a good healer back with you because I think my legs might be broken here in a moment.”  Varric slid off the horse, and Lalen unceremoniously followed with a low cry of pain as she landed on top of him.

_ Fenedhis. _

Unable to hold together as heaving heartbeat echoed shackled muscle, she grabbed desperately for his duster.  If his potions remained, she could stave off blood loss long enough to -

Varric pulled away in an abrupt motion and a smooth vial took the place of his rough coat in her fingers.  She shakily downed it and tried not to ruminate on the memories the taste of elfroot evoked.

_ Drink up, elf.  We’re not done yet. _

Hands pulled against her armor, peeling it away from her blood-soaked arming coat.  She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself protectively  _ but there was so much to protect.   _ The pain of her wounds, thankfully, began to ebb.

“Maker’s balls,” a gruff Fereldan voice blurted in surprise and Lalen immediately realized that for the past minute she had been staring at a dark-haired man whose face was obscured entirely by hair.  His tone indicated extreme offense to the condition he found her in.  “How did  _ that  _ get through your armor?”

“That’s not important right now,” Varric responded, trying to tear her tunic away from the wound.  “Unless you have some lyrium potions lying around, we need to get to the Crossroads.”

If the potion was unable to stop her from bleeding, then the wound was deep.  Lalen could only hope that wherever Solas had taken her friend, he had managed to heal what damage had remained.

“Won’t get far with a gut wound,” the man said.  “It might just be a flesh wound but if they nicked anything, it’ll go south fast.”

“Are you a healer?” Varric asked incredulously, head turning to the side so he could see the Fereldan.

“I’ve picked up things through the years.”  He spoke slowly, words calculated as if he suspected each one were a poor decision.

Varric shifted.  “She’s the Herald’s sister.  Or girlfriend.  I don’t know exactly, but she’s very important to her.”  

Hesitation.  “Go,” the man said.  “I’ll do what I can.”

Lalen put a hand around Varric’s forearm.   _ Don’t leave me here.   _ Varric didn’t move, eyes briefly flicking back down to her.  

“She’s mute, not stupid, so don’t do something you’ll regret.  There’s coin in it for you.”

“What kind of a man do you take me for?” came the angered response.

“A Grey Warden, but Wardens are still just men.”  Then, to Lalen, as he pulled away from her.  “Hero, I’m going to find help.  You’ll be fine.”  And then he took off.

The man watched him go, shaking his head.  “Hero isn’t much of a name,” he said as he lifted her.  “People call me Blackwall.”

Rumors had spread at the height of the blight about the Grey Wardens that were meant to serve as a wall against the darkspawn.  It did not make men trustworthy, but she was in no position to fight against either kindness or harm.  While the pain of it was at a manageable level again, she felt dizzy from the flow of crimson dripping down her sides.

His house was humble stone and wood with a bed tucked behind a short wall as far from the door as was possible.  She allowed only a small cry as he laid her down on it.  This man could not think her weak.

“Alright,  _ hero _ , I just need you to stay like this,” he said, gently bending her knees.  

The pressure on her stomach dissipated and she felt panic melting away.  The windowless shack with its cramped walls felt  _ safe.   _ He moved out of sight, around the wall, where the sound of water splash and his strangely familiar voice muttering about the Inquisition all but sent her to empty sleep.


	12. Suledin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They say that Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf and Lord of Tricksters, approached the ancient gods of good and evil and proposed a truce. The gods of good would remove themselves to heaven, and the lords of evil would exile themselves to the abyss, neither group ever again to enter the other's lands. But the gods did not know that Fen'Harel had planned to betray them, and by the time they realized the Dread Wolf's treachery, they were sealed in their respective realms, never again to interact with the mortal world. ___
> 
>  
> 
> _\-- _The Fall of Arlathan_ , as told by Gisharel, Keeper of clan Ralaferin._

Solas’s blood slickened fingers slid on leather reins, thighs gripping the horse’s flanks tightly. Soon, he heard only the pounding of hoofbeats and Thenera’s ragged breathing. Even with his magic shielding her, the blow was powerful enough to easily be fatal if not addressed immediately.

 _This is all wrong. Where did it go amiss?_ Under the pretense of studying the Breach, he had scoured the wreckage of the Temple of Sacred Ashes thoroughly. The orb simply vanished without a trace. _Nothing could have survived being at the apex of that blast without stepping through._

By now, the world was meant to be as it was, with his power restored. Solas was _not_ meant to be galloping through the wreck and ruin left from an unhealed Breach in the Veil, plans thrown into temporary yet frustrating disarray. And his magic was most certainly _not_ meant to lie in the palm of a mortal. Especially an untrained Dalish dreamer with little regard for her own personal safety despite the world relying on her continued existence.

 _At least the Anchor remains._ The girl shuddered against his chest and blood seeped through his thick lambswool tunic. _Assuming she lives._

There was still time to save them. So long as his orb remained in tact, there was still hope to put things right. First, they needed to close the Breach.

Their pace slowed to a trot and Solas guided the horse through a dense piece of forest. Carefully, he pulled her from the saddle and cradled the smaller elf. Thenera’s arms instinctively covered her stomach.

 _So fragile._ Leaving the horse to catch its breath, he leaned her against the trunk of a nearby tree. The woman’s eyes were glassy, skin an unhealthy pallor and cold to the touch. _Shadows of what we were, sundered and weak._

“I need you to move your arms,” he said as calmly as he could manage. He shrugged off his pack, reaching for the medical supplies inside. “I am unable to treat what I cannot see.”

“Dammit…”Her lashes fluttered, but she sluggishly complied. Blood caked her loose leather tunic, slick and fresh against pallid skin. Even still, she managed a cheeky grin. “So, how bad is it?”

 _Ah, to be young again._ Solas grunted in annoyance, fingers sliding leather aside. Instead of fatal wounds, the damage was already greatly reduced. While still serious, the trio of claw marks marring her stomach were not nearly as deep as he recalled. He peered closer. _How…?_

He left the question for another time. Field dressing would have to suffice until regaining his magic or finding elfroot to make a poultice. It was a number of years since he had last threaded a needle, and Solas was thankful for steady hands. The needle sunk into flesh with little resistance, finding a steady rhythm that was bearable for her.

Thenera hissed in pain. “Where’s Lalen?”

“Your friend is not the one with the means by which to heal the sky.” He pulled what mana was available to his fingertips, lightly brushing over the first laceration. “But she is safe, no thanks to your impulsiveness.” Gradually, the hastily sewn wound became less a pulsating, angry red than a slight pink.   “What were you _thinking_?”

“Very little, to be honest.” Nervous laughter followed an awkward silence as he worked. “Was I just supposed to let her die?”

“Hardly.” He masked his irritation with a smile. “If you had been paying attention--” She squirmed when he started stitching the gash just below her breastband. “--you would have noticed Seeker Pentaghast had the situation under control.”

“I tunneled.” Thenera grimaced. “I’m sorry, _hahren.”_

 _“Tel abelas,”_ he replied. _She is quick to admit fault, at least._ “Do not dwell on past mistakes. Learn from them.”

Silence fell between them. The girl’s coloring slowly started to return, but he still felt her trembling. Blood loss and adrenaline taking their toll, he assumed.

“I was mostly the trading liaison between the humans and my clan,” she said softly. “I’m not used to fighting like this.”

“When you introduced yourself, you claimed the title of First.” Solas leaned down, biting off the excess thread. “I have met and travelled with a few of your people. I have never met a First untouched by combat in one form or another nor one that may well have been a merchant.”

“Clan Lavellan is…” Thenera chewed on her lower lip. He sat back on his haunches, head tilted in curiosity. “Different than many clans, but more common than most Dalish would care to admit.” Magic sang, soft and weak as her strength sluggishly returned to her. The last two sutures turned a healthy color. “We are a proud people, but…” A sad smile, . “Some cling too tightly to traditions that have no place in this world.”

 _Curiouser and curiouser the Herald becomes,_ he thought. That was not the response he had expected. Angry, defensive words of what little culture they had retained, mayhap. That they dared not band together against oppression for fear of complete annihilation, even. Not an active critique. _Perhaps not so fragile after all._ Digging out a roll of bandages, he smirked. “That has been true for the entirety of civilization, I imagine.”

Her head tilted back, eyes sliding shut. “I’m also sorry about your tunic.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The blood. I don’t think that stain’s coming out.” She snickered before gasping in pain. “Being the Herald should have some perks. I can probably replace it.”

He laughed incredulously. Despite near death, she was worried about his _clothing._ “A wonderful use of Inquisition resources.”

“I thought so,” she quipped with a grin.

“Be still, _da’len_ ,” Solas suddenly whispered, and Thenera’s smile faded.  He could hear the sound of horses.  Easily the Inquisition, but just as easily the human combatants littering the HInterlands.  He reached for his staff.  At least three horses, by the sound of it.

He silently positioned himself to see the road through the foliage until he could identify Inquisition colors.

“There,” called one of the scouts, pointing to where their horse was silently grazing.  “The Herald’s mount.”

“Solas!”  Cassandra’s voice thundered through the trees. “The Herald, is she…?” The Seeker’s mount picked a careful path through the roots.

“Thank the Creators you’re safe,” Thenera said. Her fingers clasped around one of Solas’ wrists, grip firm. He stood, helping her to her feet. “I am more or less whole.”

“Then we need Solas’s skills.  Your sister was injured...we don’t know how badly.”

 _An injury she likely sustained charading as a warrior._ “I will see to her.”  He scanned the horses but did not see the second Dalish.  “Although, you seem to have neglected to bring her with you, which would have been immeasurably simpler.”

“Well…” Varric shifted uncomfortably. “The Seeker _may_ have rushed off before we knew she was hurt.  I left her with...well.  Let’s just call him a _friend_.”

“Take me to her. Now.” Sweat beaded on Thenera’s brow, trickling down her neck but she stubbornly moved towards their horse. Her fingers tangled in their mount’s thick mane to steady herself. Despite shaking legs, the woman’s eyes were steel. “There are few in this world I trust completely, but Lalen is one. And the People do not abandon their own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for the rushed chapters. Trying to keep a weekly deadline is hard. x.x


	13. Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thenera and Lalen are reunited.

_Blighted dwarf._ Thenera’s temper festered as they rode. While uncomfortable, she was grateful for the brutal pace Cassandra set. Her teeth ground, each lurch from their mount jostling still sensitive flesh and mind racing with any number of possibilities: Lalen murdered, Lalen raped, Lalen having been raped then murdered... _Why yes, let’s just leave the defenseless elf alone with a strange man._ Despite the death grip she had around Solas’ waist, he remained silent and exuded calm. _What could ever go wrong?_ Part of her envied him as the panic bubbled back to the surface. _By the Dread Wolf, why would Varric--_

  
“I didn’t have much choice, Herald,” Varric said from his place behind the Seeker. She would have to add psychic capabilities to the list of the dwarf’s quirks. “If it's any consolation, he’s a Grey Warden. They’re...mildly heroic?”

  
“Because I’m _sure_ no rapists or murderers were ever dragged into the Wardens!” Thenera snapped. An edge of hysteria made her voice crack slightly. “Paragons of virtue, the lot of them!”

  
“I’m actually told nearly all of them are criminals,” Varric replied helpfully.

  
_I’ll set him on fire, see if he thinks that’s funny._ Fury and terror surged through her.

  
“Please stop antagonizing her,” Solas said gruffly. “If the Herald’s grip tightens any further, I am likely to suffocate.”

  
Thenera grumbled an apology, relaxing her hold on his tunic.

  
“Be silent,” Cassandra said softly, and she beckoned also to the few forces flanking them. “We don’t want to attract more demons.”

  
Their campsite was visible from afar, fade-spawn milling around the skeletons of tents. Thenera clearly saw the rift. It appeared to be… She felt Solas tense as well, and he hushed her the moment she tried to speak.

  
_Creators help me. This is my fault._

  
“Later, _da’len_ ,” was all the other elf said.

  
The small cabin that Varric described came into view soon enough. A human with a large, bushy black beard hailed them. In his lap was Lalen’s armor; he appeared to be... cleaning it? Thenera scrambled to dismount. Unfortunately, the horses shemlen tended to prefer were much taller than the clan’s halla. Her foot caught on the billet, and she landed on the ground with a resounding _whump_!

  
_Fenedhis_. Pain from her still healing wounds stole her breath. She thought she heard an exasperated sigh, but was halfway to the cabin in the next heartbeat. Her fingers stumbled at the doorknob, clammy skin sliding against polished metal. _For fuck’s sake--_

  
“Ser Dwarf, you seem to have a habit of bringing me wounded elven maidens,” the man said dryly. Setting the armor to the side, he stood and opened the door for her. “Huh. That looks famil--”

  
Thenera barreled past him. _Is she alive?_ To see was to know. Heart racing, she tore through the tiny space. At the far end of the maze, she saw Lalen’s small frame sprawled across a bed. Relief flooded through her when the elf shifted, blinking owlishly up at her. Thenera sat at the edge of the feather pallet, fingers seeking out the other woman’s. Only a small scar remained on her neck.

  
“There was so much blood,” she blurted. “And you fell like a rock, I just…”

  
A gentle squeeze against her palm before Lalen held up shaky hands to her head, trying to imitate ram’s horns.

  
Thenera groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

  
Lalen’s eyes narrowed and she gestured vigorously.

  
“She seems quite intent over something,” Solas interrupted. As ever, he tread lightly and made little noise. He leaned his staff against the wall and shrugged his pack off. “My knowledge of eccentric hand gestures is unfortunately lacking. I assume you are able to interpret its meaning?”

  
“She’s worried about the refugees.” Her nose wrinkled. “Because of course she is. Yes, I’ll have them deliver the ram meat.” Lalen smiled weakly at her stern glare. “You’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

  
Lalen frowned and touched the tears in Thenera’s armor. _I almost was_ , the look said. Irritation evaporated and she shook her head.

  
“I promised, remember?” she whispered. Carefully, Thenera peeled back the loose bandage the stranger had applied. “I’m not leaving you...” Words trailed off when she saw the identical lacerations across her companion’s torso. A stone settled in her gut. “I told you to never do this again.”

  
“Is there a reason the Dalish did not see fit to teach her one of the most basic tenets of magic?” Solas settled on Lalen’s other side, muttering under his breath. Magic flickered at his fingertips, still weak but more than enough to encourage enflamed flesh toward healing. “Or perhaps it is a custom of Clan Lavellan to seek out grievous wounds?”

  
“It wasn’t from lack of trying, I assure you,” Thenera retorted. She glowered at him. “I did the best with what little resources I had. You’re welcome to try your hand at it, _hahren_.”

  
“I have more pressing lessons, it seems.” Each word was accented with condescension. “As I must first teach you to not open holes into the Fade while you sleep.” Magic trickled from his fingertips, exhaustion obvious in the sag of his shoulders and bags under his eyes. “A few lessons on how to properly wield a staff may not be remiss, either.”

  
“Then I’m in luck,” Thenera said sarcastically. With her free hand, she brushed errant strands of Lalen’s hair back behind her ear. Her tone softened as anxiety faded. _Thank the Creators, she's alright._ “Val Royeaux is at least three week’s travel. That should give us plenty of time.”

  
Wood creaked as someone else approached. Solas glanced up briefly before his eyes fell back to Lalen’s torso.

  
Thenera stood to greet the Warden. “You have my eternal gratitude, serah…?”

  
“Warden-Constable Blackwall,” the man said. He paused, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “The woman and dwarf are arguing. I wanted to be somewhere quieter.”

  
“The sky has everyone tense,” Thenera replied, glancing at Solas and ignoring Lalen’s pantomime of Warden-Constable Blackwall’s beard. “We’ve been up to our eyeballs in demons for weeks.”

  
“I can imagine. Tell me,” the human prompted. “What kind of demon slices through skin but not armor?”

  
“This isn’t the work of a demon, just an untrained mage.” Thenera sighed and pulled Lalen’s thin fingers out of her long silver hair. “She doesn’t know how to sense wounds on another person, so she pulls them to herself so she can fix them. These wounds were mine.”

She put a hand to her stomach where the echoed scars twisted across her own skin.

  
“Children are quickly taught not to wield magic in such a way because it wastes time, mana, and risks the life of the healer unnecessarily,” Solas added, beginning to rebandage Lalen as he had Thenera. “Some also believe it to be a form of blood magic, but such a claim has no basis in reality.”

  
“I see where the name ‘hero’ came from, then,” Blackwall said, leaning against the wall of his house and crossing his arms. “And from what the dwarf said, that must make you the Herald of Andraste.”

  
“That is what _shem_ are fond of calling me.” Thenera’s smile was tight lipped. “But we are representatives of the Inquisition.”

  
“I saw your people handing out food and blankets. It's good work you're doing.” His eyes flickered to the plate mail laying nearby. “Demons aren't exactly darkspawn but saving the world sounds like as good a cause as any. Does the Inquisition require trained soldiers?”

  
“It would be an honor to have a Grey Warden at our side,” Thenera said politely. Her mask slide easily into place. Anxiety was thankfully soothed with the knowledge that Lalen was safe. “Speak with Commander in Cullen in Haven. With the Breach, I feel we’ll need all the help we can get.”

  
“We should leave for Val Royeaux before nightfall,” Solas said abruptly, getting to his feet. “The fighting should not be as intense at night.”

  
As if on cue, Varric strolled in. Bianca peeked over his shoulder. “The Seeker’s getting antsy. Everyone travel ready at least?”

  
“So long as we avoid battle until dawn,” Solas muttered, packing his back before retrieving his staff.

  
_If we are to be so fortunate_ , Thenera thought to herself. _Creators, be kind. Please?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another super short chapter. Mostly filled with dialogue. Will probably update this later but eyyyy.


	14. Proxy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Val Royeaux, transgressions are suffered and forgiven with flamboyant urgency. That is not to say the city is without lasting scandal or hardship; but one must squint past the gilding to be allowed even a glimpse, as Royans are very careful about the face they present. Such it is with the masks of nobility and the underbelly of their streets.
> 
> —Excerpted from Val Royeaux: Excesses Grand and Otherwise by (formerly) Sister Laudine

The capital of Val Royeaux was constructed of gold leaf, painted white stone, and enough pretentiousness to drown any visitors not puffed up with the proper amount of posturing.  Gates were the size of houses, wrought silverite in intricate patterns.  Everywhere around them were gardens, statues, curtains, fabrics;  _ textures  _ blanketed the city as if one was not simply meant to see their surroundings, but also feel them.

Thenera hung close to Solas, as had become their custom since her  _ somniari  _ lessons had begun in the Fade away from fearful eyes.  Lalen’s conversations with her friend ceased in the three weeks it took to traverse the whole of Fereldan - but no more Rifts opened in their campsites, either.

They met one of Leliana’s scouts at the gate to the city’s entrance but she reported only the presence of templars before Lalen hesitantly led them into the marketplace as their  _ plan  _ dictated.  The Chantry mother already stood on a small platform, trying to polarize the listeners, but Lalen’s focus on her words immediately waned.

Thenera shifted nervously beside her.  The idea of passing Lalen off as the Herald in case of a trap had been one she wrestled with for several days, and still seemed to be one she wrestled with.

There was no reason the Orlesians here should be able to tell the difference between one Dalish and another but the knots in her stomach would not hear reason.  They could slaughter the whole party.  They could take everyone prisoner.  Perhaps rumor of the Herald’s appearance had travelled.  Maybe they would ask to see the mark.  Maybe this was not a trap at all and Lalen would find herself pretending to be the Herald for days just to -

_ There was so much pressure. _

Lalen had not been raised as a First, or a noble, or even a merchant.  She had no ability in which she could place confidence.  Yet, her friend’s safety hinged on her ability to  _ pretend  _ to be  _ the Herald of Andraste  _ when she had no mark to even suggest such a figure would ever chose her abilities _.   _ Her heart pounded faster as she imagined silver hair framing a pained expression.  Never before had Thenera begged, so she did not know what it would sound like, but somehow the noises she might make-

“Just breathe, hero,” Varric whispered next to her, and she tried to do as he said.

_ Just...breathing.   _ Not listening.  No words tumbling haphazardly out of the air.

“The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need,” was the Mother’s claim, along with  _ murderer  _ and other accusations that seemed to need no proof attached to be true.  As her tirade faltered, the crowd’s faces turned towards the “Herald”.  Her companions were arranged around her as Josephine’s letters recommended to subtly suggest her position to onlookers, and they focused on Lalen rather than Thenera as planned. “This is a false prophet!”

The Great Game.  “Game That Consists Mostly of Standing in the Right Spot and Wearing the Right Things” was more apt.

Lalen crossed her arms and tilted her head as the crowd waited for the Herald to begin the show.  This was no more than a theater production.  She turned and gestured to Thenera  _ as practiced _ , who stepped forward with her head bowed in response.  Her voice.

“The Breach in the sky is the real enemy,” Thenera said as loudly as she could muster.  Lalen saw how the smaller elf was holding back fear in the way her hands trembled.  Neither of them trusted that this would not end in her execution and loss of the mark.  “We must unite with the Herald to stop it.”

“It’s true,” Cassandra echoed the script.  “The Inquisition sees only to end this madness before it is too late!”

“It is already too late,” the Chantry mother said, gesturing towards the templars approaching from their right.  Chills ran up and down Lalen’s spine and she heard no more of the woman’s words.  The templars were in full armor and all held the focus of a single mission.

If they had come for the Inquisition, this would end in total slaughter.  Lalen began to put a hand towards her sword, determined to fight to allow them time to escape.  She felt the empty swell behind her as her companions moved back as planned, leaving her and the Seeker to fight alone --

\--and then a templar punched the Chantry mother in the back of the head, driving her limply to the ground as a doll from a child’s hand. Thenera voiced outrage somewhere behind her, barely audible amidst scandalized gasps from the crowd. The Chantry mothers flocked around their fallen, eyes wide with terror.   _ They are frightened of the Inquisition...because of what it stands for?  Or because an elf leads it? _

“Lord Seeker Lucius!” Cassandra said in relief, voice raised as she strode after an older templar.  “It’s imperative that we speak with-”

Lalen hurried after, heart thudding in her chest. They had not provoked the templars yet, but the woman walked headlong into the nest of vipers.   _ Be silent, unseen. _

“You will not address me,” he said, passing her.  His destination was unclear as he continued through the marketplace.

“Lord Seeker?” she asked after him, shrugging off Lalen’s gentle pull on her arm.  Unsurprisingly, the woman did not heed her.  Her leg ached sympathetically in memory of the woman’s ire, but she could not let the Nevarran walk this road.

“Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet?  You should be ashamed.”  And then to those spectating.  “You should  _ all  _ be ashamed!  The templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages!”

It sounded less rehearsed than the Chantry mother’s speech; he believed what he said.  He  _ truly _ believed that all mages needed to die rather than be loose.  Templars ruling themselves.  And Cassandra strangely mute against the threat of such killings.  Mages with power were not kind, but templars with power seemed to be just as brutal.

The Lord Seeker’s focus dropped to Lalen and Cassandra even as she continued trying to pull the larger woman away with her before he beheaded someone.

“You are the one who has failed!  You would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear.  If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late.  The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”  His mouth remained in a sneer, waiting for Lalen to challenge him.  When she offered no resistance, he continued.  “Templars!  Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection.  We march!”

He exited, taking the tide of steel with him.  Lalen and Cassandra stood alone, drowning, until the marketplace cleared and her companions were safe to return.

“I think you may have changed his mind, hero,” Varric said with a laugh, but his easy charm shook free under threat of the Chantry.

Lalen, too, felt as if her legs were made of clay.  Fear only found before the lash.  The templars loyal to no one but themselves?

Cassandra, on the other hand, sounded baffled.  “Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?

“He didn’t seem very concerned with us, that’s for sure,” Thenera said, glancing back over her shoulder.  “Fortunately everyone else seems willing to speak with us.”  Despite what should have been good news, the other woman frowned.  “Grand Enchanter Fiona from Redcliff just approached us about the mages - she seemed to know  _ I  _ was the Herald.  A messenger gave me an invitation from the “Enchanter to the Imperial Court” - also addressed to me, and then we received a curious note by way of arrow.”

The Seeker balked at the last.  “An assassination attempt?  In broad daylight?  No one here should know that you-”

“Calm down, Seeker,” Varric interrupted gently.  “I don’t think they were trying to hit anyone.”

He held up the note and Lalen took it from him to give the symbols a glance.  The movements of ink always intrigued her, but their meanings would not stay in her head.  It was...possibly written in the trade tongue.

“It sounds like a riddle.” Thenera gently tugged it from Lalen’s fingers and handed it to Cassandra.  “I’d appreciate it if you could have Leliana’s agents look into this.”

“Of course, Herald.” Cassandra stared after Lord Seeker Lucius, brow furrowed. She shook herself roughly before her attention returned to them.  “For now you should meet this Imperial Enchanter before we return to Haven.  If there is any chance of getting an Orlesian ally for the Inquisition, we should take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow start. There's a lot of editing going on behind the scenes so gaps will be filled, things will be smoothed, and the beginning will evolve beyond what has already been posted xP. This is a huge undertaking for the two of us and we're doing our best to do it justice (despite how linear the beginning is).
> 
> Feel free to offer criticism in comments. We enjoy any feedback, negative or positive; don't feel the need to succumb to Ao3's unspoken "if you can't say anything nice" rule here.
> 
> Also, we're still in the planning stages of later chapters, so if you follow the kink-meme and have been sitting on any prompts, now's a great time to post/repost if it's an older prompt. We're trying to fill as many Quiz prompts from there as we can get away with for this fic. You can post here if you don't follow the kink-meme, but in the case of lifted anonymity, please do not take it personally if your prompt is not included :3
> 
> \- NotYetWritten


	15. A Dragon In the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assiduous and talented scholar, Vivienne rose rapidly through the ranks of Montsimmard's Circle. When made a full-fledged enchanter, she elected to join no fraternity, a decision that shocked colleagues but may have been a calculated maneuver. When she successfully applied to be appointed Enchanter to the Imperial Court, nearly every fraternity clamored for her favor in hopes of having a representative at the empress's ear. She was voted First Enchanter of Montsimmard at an age young enough to cause scandal. The Circle widely regards her as the most shrewd and disciplined mage in Orlais.

Ghislain Estate.  Cassandra expressed doubt that they would all be allowed in, and so only Herald Thenera - Lalen’s name as far as the Orlesians were concerned - and her plus one Actual Thenera attended while the other three went to investigate the red note.  

The estate was more white marble and gold, with statues and _so many things_ to look at.  Lalen could not understand how so much wealth could exist without magic or slaves and so she stood agape in the entryway just looking at the luxuries bourne only of coin.

“Lady Lavellan, representing the Inquisition,” was the title she was introduced under.

They were approached by a couple asking their business and declaring they had heard many stories about the Inquisition.  Lalen was unable to focus on their exact words as she stared at the metal mask that covered the top of his face and a ruff that covered the bottom of hers.  Why were the Orlesians hiding?  How could anyone tell them apart?

“I’m sure they were exaggerations,” Thenera insisted, years of diplomacy evident in her easy confidence.  “My sister and I aren’t very interesting, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, but that is simply not true!  The Inquisition is a ripe subject for wild tales,” the woman beamed.

“The Inquisition, what a load of pig shit,” a man interrupted, descending the stairs with all the hostility Lalen had expected from the city.  “Washed up sisters and crazed seekers.  No one can take them seriously.”

“The Chantry mother seemed to take us quite seriously,” Thenera said emotionlessly.  The mask the woman used in her meetings with the Keeper locked into place.  “So seriously, in fact, that she called for the templars.”

“And it turned out well for her,” the man responded smoothly for all to hear.  “Everyone knows the Inquisition is just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”

“The Inquisition only seeks support enough to close the breach,” Thenera retorted.  “When we have done so-”

“Silence!” The man’s mouth was almost invisible beneath his mustached mask.  “I would hear this from the knife-eared Herald herself, not a lowly servant.”  

“Apologies, serah, but Andraste’s blessing has rendered her mute.”  Words came from thinly pressed lips, Thenera’s fists clenching rhythmically.  She looked ready to set the man on fire. _Silent, unseen,_ Lalen wanted to urge her friend.  “I speak out of necessity.”

“Actions speak louder than words.” The Orlesian came to a stop in front of Lalen, who fought every urge not to step back from the spin of verbal combat. “If you were a woman of honor you’d step outside and answer the charges of heresy.”

His hand went to his weapon and Lalen finally flinched away -- only to see him frozen solid.  All eyes moved to a woman now descending the stairs.  Regal, with a horned hat and a dress that gave her the frills and poise of a dragon.

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in my house...to my guests,” the magnificent woman tutted in a voice that sounded entirely unconvincing.

She had … set the man up?  Or she agreed with him and simply could not admit it in public.  Either way, each thinly veiled insult was carefully calculated.

“Madam Vivienne!” the man said in surprise and fear, barely speaking past the magic holding him in place.  “I humbly beg your pardon!”

This was the woman who had invited the Inquisition, then.  Lalen glanced quickly at Thenera.  She had relaxed a great deal since their entrance and the look of calm had descended around her once more.

“My lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair,” Vivienne said smoothly.  “What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Lalen’s eyes widened slightly.  Those words - that tone…  The cherry always wrapped sweetly around a tasteless pit.

_What would you have me do with this foolish elf?_

This woman, this Orlesian mage, was calmly offering this man’s fate to her.  She recognized the tone, the pomposity with which each word was calculated.  She had no fear of consequence -- as if murdering a man in her home in front of witnesses could not possibly have an aftermath. Thankfully, Thenera stepped forward.

“This is your affair, my lady,” she said. Standing tall with her arms clasped behind her, Thenera smiled calmly. “Do with him as you see fit.”

After a terse moment, the Marquis was released. The man collapsed to the ground, wheezing and clutching his throat. Thenera’s eyes remained focused on Madame de Fer, and likewise the dark-eyed woman kept her gaze on Thenera.  Not Lalen, not “the Herald”, but Thenera.  As if she knew.  Something unsaid had passed between the two that Lalen did not understand.  Surely her friend had not given permission for a murder to take place, and yet she had not said as much.

_Do as you like with her.  I’m going to bed._

...First Enchanter Vivienne was no different than the Magisters, but unlike in Tevinter, she had seized this kind of power in a land that treated mages as prisoners.

That thought terrified Lalen more than the hole in the sky ever could.  What more was this woman capable of - to have risen to a rank where she could potentially kill indiscriminately with no threat of templar retaliation?  Or was this simply the outcome of the templars leaving town -- and more mages would wield their control of the unknown to claim power over those not born with the ability?

The gold-encrusted estate became tarnished as Lalen looked on.  There was no use in surviving the Breach if it thrust them into a world where the strong could do as they pleased to the weak.  Her heart hammered in her ears and she felt pressure on the backs of her eyes.  Desperately, she wanted to leave, but Thenera was following the woman deeper into the estate.  Lalen tugged on her arm.

The other woman took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly before releasing Lalen.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the human said as soon as they were out of earshot of the main hall.  “I am Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.”  

Curiously, she still addressed Thenera directly and not Lalen.

“The Herald and I are pleased to meet you, Lady Vivienne,” Thenera said politely.

“Ah yes, the _Herald_ .” She made a careless gesture in Lalen’s direction before chuckling.  “I did not invite you to the Chateau for pleasantries and I _certainly_ did not invite you for execution, so we need not pretend, my dear.”   Vivienne stopped in front of a beautiful bay window, glass of wine held in one perfectly manicured hand. “I know which of you bears the mark.”

Lalen quickly glanced down towards Thenera’s hand to find her already inspecting it.  The glow was silent.

“You can sense the mark, then?” Thenera asked, voice thick with confusion.

“Not at all,” Vivienne said with a small smile. “But you were marked for execution by the Chantry.  Only a great fool would send their most powerful tool straight into the mouth of a lion.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes glittering.  “Tell me, Herald, does the Inquisition employ fools?”

“I would be more concerned with their conscripts.” Thenera’s face was stone.  “And what do you expect from such a partnership?”

“The mages in Montsimmard have not forgotten the commandment, as some have, that magic exists to serve man.” Madame de Fer’s face betrayed no emotion.  “I support any effort to restore such order.”

“You mean locking mages back up in Circles,” Thenera said, shifting uncomfortably.  “Such a noble goal.”

“It is my understanding that Dalish clans only have room for a small number of mages,” Vivienne said, turning away from her to stare out the window into total darkness.  The sky was barely visible.   “When another manifests, they are turned out with no aid from their own.  Is that not true?”

Thenera’s face was as pale as fresh snow.  The woman had touched a sensitive point.  “Be that as it may, gilded cages ripe with corruption are hardly a better solution.”

“They provide a service, my dear.  A place for all mages to safely learn to master their talents. We cannot just turn our mages out into the wild...we need an institution to protect and nurture magic.  Maker knows, magic will find neither on its own.”

“You never answered my question.”  Thenera’s voice was softer, almost breathless.  “What do you expect to get out of this?”

“The same thing anyone gets by fighting chaos: the chance to meet my enemy, to decide my fate.”  Vivienne’s mouth turned upwards.  Even her movements seemed calculated.  “I won’t wait quietly for destruction.”

“And what exactly can you bring to the Inquisition?” Thenera pressed.

 _No_.  She was considering this woman, this...freely aggressive magic for the Inquisition.  Wheels turned in effortless calculation.  Just as Keeper Deshanna had.  Just as the shunned First had.

“I am well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire,” came the cool response.  “I know every member of the Imperial Court personally.  I have all the resources remaining to the Circle at my disposal.  And I am a mage of no small talent.  Will that do, darling?”

Thenera’s head tilted in a respectful nod. “Welcome to the Inquisition, Lady Vivienne.”

Lalen let out the breath she had been holding.  This woman had snaked her way into Thenera’s good graces, despite open villainy and support for mage _prisons._ It took days, not weeks, for Lalen to discover that “safety” was more for the people of Thedas and not the mages there to study.  This woman?  She likely supported the Circles because they removed competition...leaving her alone to whisper into the ears of those in the court.

Just as a demon would.

She could only trust that Thenera saw something in this woman that she did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you don't look at the Dragon Age series from a videogame perspective, you begin to notice the people you take into your parties are actually almost all a bit terrifying. Alistair, Dog, Avaline, Cassandra, and Sigrun are just about the only straight-forward companions.
> 
> \- NYW


	16. Sera Was Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Friends? Don't poke them. It's tempting—because what else can you do—but don't. Never know what you'll get. Because Red Jenny, she's been around a long time, she's everywhere, and she hits hard or she hits light, but the choosing isn't up to you. You want someone to get their desserts, save your coppers for a moral Crow and know what you're getting.
> 
> —Notes from Ser Keiter, a traveling merchant, to his son, Erbal

Returning from the estate, the full moon lay heavy on the horizon and illuminated where busy city traffic ran just hours before. At night, a new brand of trade began.  Escorts, some, and others going to evening galas. To Lalen’s untrained eye, the slow trickle of people looked no different than the former wash of nobility wandering the streets.  Thenera stopped a few of the women, probably more for her own amusement than out of interest in their evening plans.  The human Orlesians tended to give the Dalish a wide berth.  They pretended not to see, muttered curses under their breaths as if neither had ears.   _ The Inquisition _ ,  _ run by elves.   _ Who could believe such a thing would come to pass - and with Andraste’s blessing!

The vallaslin had most certainly become a target rather than a mask.  Especially here, amidst such alien splendor.

“You must come quickly.” Cassandra greeted their return to the city with a frown.  “We have a lead on the arrow’s note.”

Thenera continued to inspect one of the placards affixed to a nearby wall.  Lalen put a hand on her elbow to gather her attention.

“It took us a great deal of time to piece together all the parts of the riddle, but we have a place and time if you wish to investigate,” Solas explained.

“It’s a bit late for a meeting, don’t you think?” Thenera asked, eyes focused on words with no meaning.  She chewed her lower lip, a sign to Lalen that something troubled her.  Madam Vivienne? “With our luck, it may well be an ambush.” 

“We are prepared for that,” Cassandra assured her, beginning to lead the way.  “But I think anyone who wished you dead would have just killed you with the arrow instead of a note to lure you closer.”

Thenera made a noncommittal grunt before absently following the Seeker.  Lalen reached out and brushed her fingers against the other elf’s upper arm to pull her out of her dreams.  A smile, to reassure her, but the woman still seemed lost in her thoughts.

And then, a sinking feeling.  How easily Thenera had agreed to allow the mage into the Inquisition.  Her loose morality could easily be the shadow of blood magic.   _ At least when locked in towers, nobody but the templars had to worry about whether we were putting them under a spell. _

“How’d the party go?” the dwarf asked with a grin, looking right at Lalen.  “Did the two of you woo some Orlesians with your elven charms?”

“We’ve made an ally of Madame de Fer,” Thenera interjected.  All at once, the strange look was gone, masked by cold efficiency of duty.  “She offered both contacts from the ‘loyal mages’ and Orlesian nobility.”

“That is a good sign,” Cassandra said with a nod.  “Word of the Inquisition is spreading.”

They paused in front of a back street that remained well-lit thanks to the angle of the moon.  It was bright enough to see that they had already caught the attention of a small group of guards scattered around the tiered courtyard.

Three men literally attacked on sight.  It was all Lalen could do to get a barrier up around Cassandra, the closest, before an arrow whistled past her face.

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric hissed, drawing Bianca and returning a bolt before the archer could nock another arrow.  “You okay, Seeker?”

But Cassandra and Lalen were already wading in, preventing the other two guards from approaching Thenera as she drew flame across the ground.  They were not as well trained against magic as the templars in the Hinterlands had been and the five of them burned quickly. Steam drifted from the metal encased husks alongside smells of cooking meat.

“The Orlesians won’t like this,” Varric said, circling the courtyard with Cassandra. “Last thing we need is a scandal two months in.”

“Who just attacks on sight?” Thenera asked breathlessly, nudging one of the guards with her foot.  “They look like regular city guards.”

“They are personal guards,” Cassandra said, reaching the blue doors opposite the alley.  “They would be here with a nobleman.  Perhaps we can find-”

Flame hit the Seeker’s armor, harmlessly reflected by Solas’s fading magic.  She lifted her shield against a second and everyone shifted defensively, searching for the caster.

A noble stood in the forecourt just through the blue doors, arm still extended.  “Herald of Andraste,” he drawled in a thick Orlesian accent, hand finally dropping to his hip haughtily.  “How much did you expend to discover me?  It must have weakened the Inquisition  _ immeasurably. _ ”

Lalen looked to Varric and Cassandra questioningly.

“We don’t even know who you are,” Thenera said bluntly.

“You don’t fool me,” the man proclaimed.  He seemed much like the Marquis from Ghislain Estate.  All rehearsed speeches and lofty words.  Was all of Orlais going to be a theater production?  “I’m too important for this to be an accident.  My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

Thenera nudged Cassandra to draw her attention to a guard approaching from the side. A guard which, with no efforts on their part,  _ dropped dead _ .

A young woman stepped out from behind him, dressed in aged leather armor and wearing what appeared to be an outfit hand-sewn from dyed linen  The top was red and the pants yellow plaid.  An old court jester uniform?  If the colors were not so bright, Lalen might have suspected her of using Solas’s tailor.

“Just say, ‘What’,” the girl said threateningly, drawing the string on a worn bow in his direction.

“What is the -”

The arrow hissed and the unarmed man erupted into blood.

_ Maker’s taint.  The Inquisition is attracting murderers. _

“Yuck,” she said, approaching the corpse.  “Squishy one.  But you heard me, right?  Just say what.  Rich tits always try for more than they deserve.”  She leaned over the body, drawing the arrow protruding from the noble’s eye socket with a grunt.  Still talking to herself. “Blah, blah, blah.  Obey me.  Arrow in my face.”  She calmly approached Lalen, who took a step back behind Cassandra’s shield.  Thenera was just as warily backing towards Solas.  Varric had not lowered Bianca, but the blond-haired newcomer did not seem to notice their tension.  “Well, you followed the notes well enough.  Glad to see you’re…”  The girl’s face took on a disgusted look as she looked at the party.  “Didn’t know you had so many elves, yea?  Well, hope you’re not... _ too _ elfy.”

Lalen’s hands unconsciously went to the points of her ears as she stared at the similar ones the girl had.  Either she was too crazy to remember that she too was an elf or she meant the vallaslin.  She heard Varric chuckling behind her.

“Who are you?” Cassandra finally interrupted.  “Why did you kill this man?”

“No idea,” Sera said.  “Don’t know him from manners.  People just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“You were looking for the Inquisition?” Thenera asked.

The girl laughed.  “You learn quick.  Name’s Sera.  This is cover.  Get round it.”  She gestured to a set of boxes and readied her bow.

“Brought some friends?” Varric cranked Bianca.

“Don’t worry,” Sera laughed.  “Someone tipped me their equipment shed.  They’ve got no breeches.”

True to her word, more guards began to pour into the courtyard.  All carrying a weapon and clad in full armor...from the waist up.

”Of all the things you could have taken, why not their  _ weapons _ ?” Thenera hissed in confusion, pulling her staff out and blanketing the stairs with fire.

“Because no breeches,” the woman giggled, and then she laughed as she fired her bow.

Cassandra made an unamused noise, but Lalen was simply surprised they even bothered showing up to combat against two apostates, two ranged attackers, two close attackers, and with their lord dead...all in their smalls.  It seemed the exact kind of day one decides to find a new line of work.

Instead they were knocked down, some killed, because of some unknown loyalty to some unknown lord who possibly opposed the Inquisition in some way.  Who  _ was  _ this woman who could prance about carelessly amidst so much killing?

“Friends really came through with that tip,”  _ the clearly insane killer _ said as soon as the fighting stopped.  “No breeches!”  Her laugh died a little as she saw the angry and confused faces still waiting for an explanation for being dragged into a crime.  “So, Herald of Andraste.”  

She looked Lalen up and down until Thenera held out her hand.  

“That would be me,” she said.

“But that one was the Herald in the marketplace, yea?”

Thenera crossed her arms.  “Long story.  Why don’t we start with  _ who you are _ ?”

The elf sighed.  “It’s like this: I sent you a note to look for hidden stuff by my friends.  The ‘Friends of Red Jenny’.  That’s me.  Well, I’m one -”

“It’s an organization,” Varric interrupted, finally putting Bianca away.  “I’m familiar with it.  Peasants playing pranks on nobles work under the name.  Usually harmless.”

Solas was silent on the subject, and seemed to be studying Thenera’s reactions more than the new elf that had immediately shown distaste for the amount of pointy ears in their-

_ Was that a button? _  Conversation forgotten, Lalen knelt down to pick up the tiny disc.  It was a carved wooden lion, polished to a shine.  A droplet of blood marred the surface, as well as ash - presumably from Thenera’s fire.

“This is far from a prank,” Cassandra said.  “People are dead.”

The button had come from one of the guards, probably, but Lalen could not tell which was missing.  Into her pouch it went.  Nobody had seen.  They were all still arguing with the elf.

“I would have been happy stripping his guards and nicking his stuff, but turns out he deserved worse.”  A look of anger came across her face.  She did not like the challenge.  “Or was him trying to kill you a good thing?  Are you the baddie?”  A sigh from Cassandra.  “Didn’t think so.  Look, do you need people or not?”  The elf’s turn to sigh. “I want to get everything back to normal.  Like you.”

Lalen could not read her friend’s face but - as with the Lady Vivienne - Thenera smiled.  “Welcome to the Inquisition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Haven next.


	17. Context

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic is dangerous, just as fire is dangerous. Anyone who forgets this truth gets burned.

Their growing retinue drew more attention than was ideal for quick travel. Lady Vivienne brought along a small group of loyalist mages that trudged alongside wary refugees. Thankfully, Madame de Fer proved more than capable of soothing anxieties. Thenera found herself in awe of the woman’s grace. Any time they encountered stragglers along the road, she ensured they left with enough to make it to the next town. From her own stores, no less. Even the ones who looked at them in disgust. Those tended to leave with a bit more.

 _Every breath commands respect,_ Thenera thought to herself. _Always aware, never caught off guard._ Watching the woman was to see a piece of perfected performance art. Every gesture and word selected to convey prestige. _A woman all too familiar with what people are capable of when afraid. Reassurance through compassion._

Deshanna and Lalen both painted human Circles as hellscapes. Ripe with corruption and abuses, little better than prisons. Madame de Fer was many things: Intimidating, proud, fiercely intelligent, collected. But a prisoner, she was not. This was a woman given the title Lady of Iron. One who would bend but never break, able to blend in among human nobility with pleasantries and immaculate poise. Someone always ready to do what was necessary to endure the coming storms. Survival, Thenera respected. One must know the rules of a game to play effectively. Lady Vivienne was proving to be a master. Who better to emulate?

It took her a few days to even consider approaching their new travel companion. With almost contemptuous ease, the woman managed to see through their charade. For Solas to see through such a thing was bad enough. To think that even for a moment it would have been sufficient to fool her humiliated Thenera. One evening, emboldened by elfroot, she finally approached The Lady of Iron.

“Ah, my lady Herald!” Vivienne greeted her. Occasional laughter drifted from the other side of camp, where Varric was entertaining the others. “Come and sit for a bit.” Her tent was immaculate, a slice of civility amid chaos. The design was...very Orlesian, yet not overly so. “You look as though you have something on your mind.”

Thenera settled herself on the other side of the woman’s campfire. Her eyes kept flickering toward the tent behind Vivienne.

“I’ve always wondered…” Thenera looked away, embarrassed. Lalen never spoke much about her time within the Chantry’s domain. “I don’t know much about the Circles. What was it like to grow up in one?” She felt her face flushing. “The Keeper said they steal children away in the dead of night.”

Vivienne laughed.

“Oh my dear, no,” the woman said. She smiled warmly. “But the question you ask is the root of all problems with mages.” Good humor faded with a sigh. “Each Circle was different, full of an array of people. Templars varied and the politics of each were unique.” She gazed into the flames. “Every person who has lived within the Circles has their own experience. Some suffered while others were content. Some were cruel, others compassionate, and others even indifferent.” Vivienne’s eyes met Thenera’s. “But this applies to all people, whether they be mages or no.”

“Unfortunate, but true.” Thenera shifted uncomfortably. “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what was your experience?”

“Oh, I enjoyed life in Montsimmard, my dear,” Vivienne replied easily. “It was an edifice devoted to knowledge and refinement.” Her eyes glittered in amusement. “And there is comfort to be had, you know, in the company of fellow mages. Those born without magic will never truly understand.”

“No, they won’t.” Thenera’s thoughts strayed to the clan’s hunters. Always wary of any deviation from what they considered ‘normal’ magic. Always ready to strike down any who thought to experiment. _Not so different than templars._ “But to be forced inside towers…”

“I have never been forced to live anywhere,” Vivienne said sternly. Her tone softened. “My dear, I have a suite in the palace and a wing at my dear Duke Bastien’s estate. Most Circles allowed mages to live away from the tower. Mages had many choices.”

 _Was Orlais so different?_ Thenera filed the question away for another time. She would need to look into it. For now, she listened.

“One could work independently or in service of nobility,” the other woman continued. “All that was necessary was permission from the First Enchanter. Some Circles were harsher, with Kirkwall being the worst.” She tsked, shaking her head. “But it was the exception. Most were quite permissive.”

“If Kirkwall was the exception, then why did mages across Thedas revolt?” Thenera asked.

“A failure of perspective that infected our leadership,” Vivienne replied solemnly. “Mages lived in a world of their own and templars. Oppressed and oppressors. They could not even imagine what was beyond the tower walls.” Another shake of her head, eyes solemn. “Kirkwall gave the entire world a reason to remember its fear of magic. One man killed hundreds of civilians with the snap of his fingers.”

Chaos. The midwife of hatred and misunderstandings.

“Across Thedas, a new and tangible fear of magic grew.” Vivienne’s immaculately manicured fingers tapped against her leg. “Nobility and commoner alike called to the Chantry for protection. Unfortunately, the malcontents in the towers gave no thought to this.” For a moment, the woman’s mask dropped and irritation showed. “They cared only for themselves and their anger at the new templar restrictions. When a mage attempted to assassinate Divine Justinia--again--the mages protested the investigation.”

“Which did nothing to foster confidence,” Thenera murmured. “Best to be transparent under such circumstances.”

“Just so,” Vivienne said with a nod. “The leadership instead chose to vote on independence based on the ‘intolerable conditions imposed by the templars’.” The woman scoffed. “Sparing no thought to the fact that magic was more feared in the aftermath of these attacks than it had been since Tevinter’s day.” Her lips turned up in a scowl. “So long as they had their freedom, they cared little for riots, angry mobs, or about pitting mages against one another.”

“Did the mages have cause to rebel, though?” she asked after a moment’s silence. Deshanna told stories of beatings, starvation, molestation. Worst of all was the dreaded Rite of Tranquility. Thenera shuddered. “To risk so much, there had to be justification.”

“Perhaps some had good reason, but to do so in the aftermath of terrorist attacks?” Vivienne grimaced. “Was that really the most opportune time to break away? By all means, protest abuses by the templars! Just don’t do it in a fashion that implies mages support wholesale murder.”

“It seems I have quite a bit to learn,” Thenera muttered.

“You are farther than most, my dear,” Madame de Fer said. “Acknowledging that one does not know is the first step to wisdom.” She stood, smoothing out her nightgown. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. But we have a long journey ahead of us. We should all get some rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies on the lapse in updates. Real life has reared its ugly head in the form of a move and other happy fun times. Hoping to get back on track soon enough. Thanks for your patience!! <3  
> -Alean


	18. Just to Fill You In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter, written by Varric, because we haven't updated in a month. Real life stuff. It's raining drama on both coasts.

I’ll be completely honest: the hero spent the entire ride home looking like she wanted to kill someone.  The majority of her day consisted of being shouldered out or drowned by the throng of the faithful that “accidentally” guided their horses into proximity of the Herald.  It might not have been such a problem if her gelding hadn’t been exercising his leadership skills and trained mostly for verbal commands.  Not really her strength.  Scout Harding stepped in after the first week but that meant more people riding near her and practically no room to breathe.

We camped on the outskirts of town.  Well, they camped and I followed.  The Herald claimed it was because the Dalish aren’t used to being around people for so long, but I’m betting it had something to do with the events at the Crossroads.  Chuckles has been giving her combat lessons and they both wake up in their separate tents at the same time every morning.  I’m not an expert on the Fade, but I know the elf is.  I just hope that if her mark is responsible for demons plowing through our campsite, they can get it figured out.

The Seeker actually joined us in the middle of week two, but she had that same sour look on her face she always has.  I had to throw an arm around the hero to keep her from running.

“I came to apologize,” she said.  Those words exactly.  She came to apologize.  “I am sorry for the way I treated you after the Conclave.”  

I’m not shitting you.  A Seeker of Truth walked over to us and said she was sorry.

Thenera handled it very diplomatically.  “Nobody knew what was going on.  You had reason to be suspicious.”  

No acceptance or a forgiveness, just an acknowledgement that she hadn’t behaved like an insane person.

The Seeker looked deflated.  I’m betting she had imbibed some strength before coming over.  “Thank you for saying that, but I was overly harsh to you and your clanmate.  I’m sorry for…”  She swallowed and her gaze switched from the Herald to the Hero.  I don’t think it was pride.  I think she was actually struggling with what she had done.  “I’m sorry for hurting you.  It was beneath me and brings shame to the Seekers.  I was so sure of things that are now clearly not true.  I know words aren’t enough, but I owe you at least that much.”

I’ve noticed the Hero always looks at the Herald when she isn’t sure what to do.  I’m not sure what their relationship is, but it doesn’t seem healthy.  Back in the Hinterlands, the Herald tried to make some excuse to get Hero to distract me so she could talk to Chuckles privately.  We did a little bit of hunting, but as soon as I suggested returning, she came onto me.  No bullshit here: the woman was willing to have sex in the woods with someone she barely knew just so her First could have some alone time with Chuckles.

Anyway, the Herald gives her a nod and invites Cassandra to have dinner with us.  It’s the remainder of the bear we killed last week - nothing special - but she treats it like we’re having a formal dinner.  Small talk, showing too much interest.  I wonder how long she’s wanted to make up for what she did.  Or maybe Orlais just changed her mind about the two.

Still, having her around is a change of pace.  She’s delightful to torment.   Chuckles always has something vaguely insulting to say to me, but he won’t put up a good fight.  More like firing an arrow and fleeing to cover.  The other two don’t really seem to hear much of what I say, although I catch the Hero staring at Bianca a lot of the time.  At least, I think it’s Bianca she’s focusing on.  Might be the chest hair.  I can’t tell with her.


	19. Triumph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas does his best to prepare Thenera for being the Herald.

Their travels continued.  

Between occasional skirmishes, riding for hours at a time, and Solas’ nightly combat exercises, Thenera’s already slim endurance was at its limit. The hedge mage was a ruthlessly efficient teacher, unlike Deshanna. A rudimentary self defense lesson that lasted no longer than a day was nothing compared to  _ every single night _ . 

“We have to make up for lost time,  _ da’len, _ ” Solas had chided.  

Lalen and Vivienne observed that evening as the two elves circled each other. Solas feinted occasionally, testing Thenera’s defenses. Agile jabs followed low sweeps that Thenera barely managed to avoid. Soon enough, her response was too slow. Solid heartwood cracked against her hand. Thenera hissed in pain, dropping the staff. Solas followed the strike with another blow that buckled her knees and landed her flat on her back. Wind knocked out of her, Thenera could only glare up at the smirking apostate.

“Too slow, I’m afraid.” Solas’ breathing was even. Only a slight sheen of sweat on his brow betrayed any exertion. “You have to--”

“Anticipate the enemy’s attacks, I know,” she wheezed. Grudgingly accepting the hand he offered, she got to her feet. “You’re faster than you look.”

“Ideally, your body will eventually react without conscious thought,” he retorted. Her staff was tossed back. His feet shifted, posture changing back to a combat stance. “Again.”

Three more times, Thenera was knocked into the dirt. 

_ Smug bastard,  _ she wanted to spit. Instead, she held her tongue.  _ He’s trying to help. _

Vivienne approached her when Solas took a moment to rehydrate. Lalen fidgeted alongside her. She handed a flask of cool water to Thenera before reaching out to touch fresh bruises. Her eyes were full of concern.

“He seems to favor strikes on your left side,” Madame de Fer advised softly. “Let him think your guard down, but use a light barrier to soften the blow. Use your strengths to bolster your weaknesses.” A sly smile tugged at the corner of the other woman’s lips. “That should give you a bit of an opening, darling.”

 Thenera nodded. Solas’ eyes narrowed suspiciously when he returned. Vivienne’s glittered mischievously, settling back next to Lalen. Nevertheless, he took up his place across from her. 

Wood clattered as Solas went about his probe. Sweat dripped down the sides of her face. Thenera scowled. Despite the burn from salt dripping into them, her eyes fixed on his face just as he had taught her.  _ Even the greatest warrior will give away their intentions once they have committed to action.  _

Hopefully, despite this awareness, he would prove just as predictable.

Sure enough, Solas shifted towards her left. Lyrium rushed through her veins, magic melding into a transparent sheen against her leg. Without a barrier, the blow would have been enough to send her onto one knee. Thanks to Vivienne, Thenera absorbed the strike and swung her staff up. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t very good at pulling her attacks just yet. Heartwood was sturdy, but sylvanwood even more so. 

Solas grunted, blow catching him in the gut. Behind him, Vivienne smirked and Lalen pumped a fist into the air.

“Well done,” he managed to gasp. Taking a deep breath, he straightened. His voice evened out. “You learn quickly.”

“With proper instruction,” Thenera replied cheekily, glancing over at Madame de Fer. The other woman inclined her head before turning and heading back to her tent. She grinned. “Again,  _ hahren? _ ”

“No, that is more than enough combat, I think,” Solas replied. Leaning heavily on his staff, he laughed breathlessly. “We still have much to do tonight,  _ da’len.  _ I trust you have been practicing?”

The spark of pride she felt shrivelled. Thenera winced. “Of course.” 

Ever since the rift had opened over their camp, Solas took it upon himself to do what her Keeper failed to. While Deshanna had drilled the very basics of magic into Thenera’s skull, anything deviating from her strict expectations was forbidden. Lucid dreaming was normal. According to the Keeper, being able to pull others into her dreamscapes was not. Now there was Solas, who spoke as if it were as natural as breathing.

Thankfully, Lalen had not been inclined to disclose their meetings to Deshanna.

Thenera’s muscles were already aching when she curled up against her clanmate. The ram skin pallets, while not the most comfortable, lent a slight cushion against rocky terrain. Closing her eyes, she found herself missing Orlais. With its fields of lush grass and blossoming flowers, a land of eternal spring. The closer they drew to Fereldan, the harder the ground became. A chill in the air promised snow, and craggy mountains lurched from the earth. With winter came the nightmares. 

And so, with winter came Thenera’s true test.

With an exhausted sigh, she fell into the Fade.

 

****

 

_ Warmth suffuses Thenera’s limbs. Grass tickles her bare arms, sun beams trickling through the canopy above. She sits up, greeted by an Orlesian meadow. Wildflowers are in full bloom, swaying gently in the summer wind.  Trees rustle in the distance.  _

_ Solas’ request for entry is gentle: three sharp breezes that resonate through the dreamscape. The smells of old tomes, herbs, with a tint of ozone that is unique to him carries on the wind. It is a smell she finds herself becoming familiar with after the past week, a source of comfort. Control and knowledge.  _ Safe. _ Haltingly, she sends her response in kind.  _

_ Thenera wonders what her own magic smells like.  _

_ The hedge mage’s silhouette appears at the edge of the treeline. He walks the path with an easy air of confidence that Thenera envies. He looks no different here than in the waking world. Roughspun lambswool and simple leggings, carrying a worn staff. Yet there is something she can’t quite put her finger on. His aura, perhaps, twisting and curling around him. Subdued, but no less powerful. The Beyond is where the man came alive, more so than in their waking travels.    _

_ “ _ Andaran atishan,”  _ he greets her with a wry smile. He glances around them, taking in her dreamscape. “It appears soon I will no longer be needed. Your control here grows more stable by the day.” _

_ “Not needed perhaps, but your company is appreciated,” she responds with a tight smile. Part of her relishes the praise. Another dreads the first touches of winter. To see if his lessons truly prove effective. “Especially where there are no prying ears.” _

_ “Wise indeed, Herald.” Solas seats himself next to her. A respectful distance, but relaxed. “It...is reassuring. To have someone I can talk with openly, without fear of judgment in this particular regard.” _

_ He is careful in both actions and words, always cognizant of body language. He takes great care to ensure they are on equal footing, eye level and never looking down on her. The gesture is simple. But after a lifetime of condescension and mistreatment, it means more to her than words could ever express. _

_ They fall into a comfortable silence, the sun warm on her skin. Questions roil in Thenera’s skull, itching to blurt from her in a rush. Her eagerness bleeds into the space around them and Solas laughs. _

_ “If you have questions, you need only ask  _ da’len. _ ” His eyes glitter with amusement, shifting so he is facing her. “As you said, there are no prying ears.” _

_ Oh, but Thenera has  _ so  _ many questions. Did he really have any idea what he was asking for? _

_ “I would like to hear some of your stories,” she says at last. “If you don’t mind sharing, that is.” _

_ For a moment, surprise flits across Solas’ face. Then it is replaced by a brilliant smile. “I can do better than  _ tell _ you. I can  _ show _ you.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short, kind of garbage chapter since this hasn't been updated as regularly as I had anticipated. Here's to hoping things get back on track. Especially since reality's making me want to escape more than ever. 
> 
> Cheers!  
> Aleanbh


	20. Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Herald of Andraste arrives at Haven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Korth devised a plan that he might never be betrayed by his own heart, by taking it out and hiding it where no soul would ever dare search for it. He sealed it inside a golden cask, buried it in the earth, and raised around it the fiercest mountains the world had ever seen, the Frostbacks, to guard it._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _But without his heart, the Mountain-Father grew cruel. His chest was filled with bitter mountain winds that shrieked and howled like lost souls. Food lost its flavor, music had no sweetness, and he lost all joy in deeds of valor. He sent avalanches and earthquakes to torment the tribes of men. Gods and men rose against him, calling him a tyrant, but with no heart, Korth could not be slain. Soon there were no heroes left, either among men or gods, who would dare challenge Korth._
> 
> \--Excerpt from _A Tale of the Frostbacks_

It became a nightly ritual of theirs. Solas would visit her glade and Thenera would beg for more stories. The Battle of Ostagar, a matchmaking spirit that guided villagers to happy marriages, and all manner of fascinating tales. The hedge mage was a bottomless well of trivia, whether it be on ancient history or modern. All learned by virtue of travelling the Fade. The idea fascinated her, and she found herself wondering if it was something he could teach her. Aside from the martial training, at least. 

After the second week, those exercises became bearable. By that point, saddle sores had become more of a concern. Lalen suffered silently next to her day after day, but immediately brightened upon catching sight of Haven. The tiny village bustled with more activity than when they had left. Dozens more recruits practiced in the fields outside, Cullen standing out amongst dull platemail. Blackwall was next to the Commander, raising his hand in greeting. Lalen waved enthusiastically, a wide grin stretched across her face. When her sister turned and pantomimed a big, bushy beard, Thenera couldn’t help but laugh. 

Thankfully, Thenera was no longer stuck behind Solas and had a pack horse of her own. Resisting the urge to break out into a canter was nearly impossible as they picked their slow way up to the gates. Weeks on the road left her with only one real concern: a bath. Mindful of her mount’s height this time, she managed to hop off the creature without making a fool of herself.

“We should take some time to get cleaned up,” Thenera said wearily. The stairs leading up to the main courtyard sent spikes of pain up her back. “Cassandra, convene the War Council in an hour.”

“Consider it done.” The Seeker started off towards the Chantry.

“First round’s on me!” Blackwall called, he and Cullen making their way through the throng gathering around their party. “Glad to see you made it back in one piece, Herald.”

“I could definitely go for a pint,” Varric said cheerfully. “To be honest, I was kind of expecting that to turn into a shitshow.”

The Grey Warden chuckled. “That implies it wasn’t. From what we heard here, didn’t sound promising.”

“Nah, not as bad as it could have been.” Varric cracked his neck and winced. “Templars could have actually attacked us. They’re not exactly pushovers en masse, but they seemed more interested in hunting down apostates.” 

“But thankfully they were more offended by my ears,” Thenera said dryly. “And thought the Herald was a warrior.”

The dwarf glanced between her and Lalen. “Take some time to yourself. Andraste knows you and Hero need it.” He grinned. “I’ll make sure everyone hears the good news.”

Thenera said her goodbye and all but bolted for the cottage that had been set aside for her and Lalen. Two wooden basins were situated in the small space at the rear of their dwelling, full of lukewarm water.  _ Thank the Creators for small favors.  _ Thenera all but tore her clothes off. Lalen shifted uncomfortably while her eyes stared longingly at the tubs. 

Thenera always went first, as confident nude as she was in full armor. Lalen, however, refused to be seen. From what little she had divested, Thenera thought better of asking too many questions about her companion’s past. 

“I’ll be quick,” she promised, sinking into the water. Closing her eyes, she focused a small portion of mana in order to add a nice steam to the tub. Sighing in relief, she dunked her head under before grabbing the soap so helpfully provided. “And I’ll heat yours up before--”

Two quick knocks preceded the door to the cabin swinging open. Thenera was in the middle of scrubbing at her chest when Cullen stepped through. Innocent brown eyes widened, and the human’s mouth dropped in shock.

“H-Herald, I--” The commander focused on the floor. “Maker forgive me, I thought I’d caught you soon eno--”

“It’s alright,” Thenera said, trying to mask her irritation with a startled smile.  _ Why do humans always barge in like they own everything?  _ Her knees rose up to cover her chest. “Is there a problem?”

“There was a missive from your clan,” Cullen explained. His entire face and neck flushed. “I thought you would be eager to hear from your family.” The human rubbed the back of his neck. His other hand extended the letter towards her. “And...well, I felt as though we’d gotten off on the wrong foot.” He glanced over toward Lalen once before fixating back on the floor. “I was hoping to remedy that, but it seems I’ve gone and made it worse.”

_ At least he didn't come in with his sword drawn,  _ she mused, thinking of Cassandra. 

Deshanna’s handwriting was unmistakable, as was the sudden pounding of Thenera’s heartbeat. Even miles apart, the Keeper had the same effect on her. Deep down, some irrational part of her whispered  _ What if? What if this entire mission was just another way to have her ‘disappear’?  _

“I should come back later,” Cullen said softly.  “You...clearly have things to do.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Thenera assured him, attention focused on Deshanna’s words. “We will need to address this sooner rather than later.”

She leaned over and took it from him. Moisture evaporated, her fingers leaving no watermarks upon the parchment. Tearing the envelope roughly, she skimmed the letter. 

  
  


_ Clan Lavellan offers greetings to the Inquisition and wishes it well in sealing the Breach that has opened in the sky. While some Dalish clans hate humans and want nothing to do with them, Clan Lavellan has always dealt fairly with them and wished only to be left in peace. That said, we have on occasion been forced to defend ourselves from those who saw us as easy prey. _

_ It has come to our attention that members of our clan are being held captive by your organization. They went to the Conclave only to observe the peace talks between your mages and templars, and we find it highly unlikely that they intentionally violated any of your people’s customs. If they have been charged with a crime, we would appreciate being made aware of it at the very least.  _

_ We await your reply, _

_ Keeper Deshanna Istimaethorial of Clan Lavellan _

  
  


Thenera was aware of Lalen unbraiding her hair as the taller elf craned to look at the note. Not that she could read it anyway. With a concentrated effort, she forced herself to relax. With hair unwound, the tension at the back of her neck slowly dissipated. Deshanna was more concerned over the gall of a human organization capturing one of their own rather than their safety. She carefully folded the letter back up and returned it to Cullen. 

“She thinks we’re being held against our will.” Lalen rested her chin on the side of the tub and absently flicked the water. Thenera could practically hear her agreement on their situation. “Deshanna always assumes the worst.”

“What?” Cullen’s head snapped up, expression bewildered. “That’s not how it is at all!”

“Of course not,” she said simply. “The Inquisition would be in a poor situation if they had to force their means of closing rifts to stay.” 

“My troops can deliver news of your safety and make it clear that the Inquisition should be taken seriously.” Cullen stood a respectful distance away, eyes carefully averted.

“As much as that thought amuses me, no.” Thenera tapped her chin, mind racing. “That’s asking for an overreaction. They would attack Chantry soldiers on sight if they didn’t have warning.” Thenera stood, carefully rinsing herself off before stepping out of the tub. “If we send a few of Leliana's elven runners ahead of your troops...”  _ Keep her from doing anything stupid while still showing the might of the Inquisition?  _ “Maybe a contingent of soldiers bringing a peace offering of sorts?”

“That could be arranged.” Having been addressed, the human’s eyes drifted to her. “What would you sugges--”

Commander Cullen blanched before hastily turning around. She rolled her eyes.  _ Shemlen and their modesty. _

Lalen moved closer to Cullen, fingers plucking at the ruff about his neck. It served its purpose, drawing his attention away from Thenera. She was always quick to try and alleviate awkward situations. Usually by making them more uncomfortable, but in a more palatable fashion.

“You’ll have to forgive her,” Thenera said smoothly. “She has little concept of personal space.”

“I-I see,”  he said, prying Lalen’s fingers out of the cloak.  “Is she…?”  He trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I realize she’s a mage, but is she--” A sigh of frustration. “Sweet Andraste, I’m not good at these kinds of things.”

“Her mind is sound, Commander.” Thenera’s smile held an edge of malice to it now. Patience wore thin and cracks started to show in her carefully constructed mask. Thankfully Cullen could not see her expression. _ All I wanted was a blighted bath. _ “I will think on this and speak with Sister Nightingale about it at the council meeting.”

“Of course.” Cullen let himself out, leaving the two elves in familiar, blessed silence. 

The clothes arranged for them were a size too big. Thenera made a mental note to ask for supplies later. Bland tunics and leggings that could easily entangle them simply would not do for extended travel. After Thenera dressed herself, she settled herself at the makeshift desk someone had arranged. Her back was to Lalen in order to give the other elf privacy. Absently, she heated the water for her companion before forcing herself to focus back on the problem at hand: Deshanna and how to go about getting word to the clan.

_ She sends me on a secret mission and next thing they hear is I’m the head of a Chantry sect. How do I even start to explain?  _ Thenera chewed on her lower lip.  _ Sending elven runners ahead, without  _ vallaslin  _ no less, won’t do much to ease Deshanna’s mind. And what do I send as a gift that will soften cold steel?  _

Creators, it was hopeless. No matter what she did, Deshanna would see a slight where none was intended. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to visit you on the road much,” Thenera said after a few moments more of fruitless anxiety. She laughed nervously. “But we shouldn’t have anymore surprise visits from the other side.” Lalen let out a heavy breath, and she heard water slosh over the sides of the tub. Thenera smiled. “Things are looking up, at least. Maybe we can look forward to one day without a human barging into our living space?”

Clothing shuffled behind her. A few moments later, Lalen stepped into view. Her dark hair hung limply and fabric clung where droplets of water still rested. Thenera tsked softly. Reaching out and drawing from her mana, Thenera brushed her fingers against Lalen’s wrist. Gentle heat turned any remaining moisture to vapor. The other woman’s eyes slowly turned to meet hers alongside a small nod of thanks.

“I’m going to check on things around town,” Thenera said, standing from the desk. Maybe getting her mind off of it, even for a little while, would help. “Hopefully, these meetings won’t last long. I'll meet you there, _falon._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another first draft chapter. Apologies for the lapse in updates, but it's been a hectic couple of weeks. Trying to get back on schedule ;3  
> -Aleanbh


	21. The War Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen attends Thenera's council meeting. Status updates, and motives questioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to take Seeker Pentaghast's offer. The Circles have fallen. I can give no more to the Templar Order, nor it to me. The Maker has shown me a new path; I must take it.
> 
> —Excerpt from a letter sent to South Reach by Commander Cullen

“Word has it you travelled with the Hero of Ferelden,” Cullen said idly to Leliana as he scanned the map draped across the war table.  And then, heart pounding, he realized he had said it aloud.   _Maker’s breath._ His clumsy interactions with the Herald had driven him nearly half-mad.   Too late; may as well commit.  “So…”  Clearing his throat, he pressed on.  “You and Amell…”

_ Andraste preserve me...what do I even wish to know?  _

“Yes?” Leliana asked expectantly.  

He looked up to find the bard staring at him with a small, almost imperceptible smile. He’d obviously been lost in thought.  She’d been waiting for this question.

“Was she…”  He sighed.  Even now, he regretted so much of his time in Kinloch Hold.  “I mean, did she ever…”  

Talk about him?  Hate him for his actions?

The smile broadened.  “Are you asking for details?”

She mistook his purpose - or else was giving him an exit.  “I, uh, no.”  He played along.  “That would be inappropriate.”  

_ Amell  _ is _ the Queen now, after all. _ The echo of the Chantry’s outer door opening rescued him from further discussion.

“That must be the Herald,” Josephine said, putting aside her quill and fixing a stack of papers.

“And hopefully  _ just  _ the Herald,” Leliana said from where she towered over Orlais.

“You don’t like her companion?” Cullen asked in surprise.  

Very few under his command seemed to know what to think of the two Dalish, but reports had generally been positive.  They had personally fought through to the refugee camp and seen to it that the Crossroads had adequate supply lines.  They went so far as to hunt rams to bolster stockpiles before leaving for Val Royeaux.  Even the requisition officers reported that they seemed to be invested in their supply needs.  The correspondence usually focused on the Herald, of course, but her friend was always named like a shadow.   _ The Herald and her clanmate.   _ As if they were one entity.

“I can’t ensure the security of the Inquisition’s secrets if I know nothing about the woman she confides everything in,” came the reply.

“I doubt she’ll be telling many Inquisition secrets,” Cullen chuckled.

The elf’s mannerisms...the way she had stared at the ground as she followed Thenera mutely up the hill to the temple.   _ Maker’s breath,  _ if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was Tranquil.  But while Cassandra still labored under the assumption that she was a melee combatant, he knew that she was most certainly a mage.  It took a great deal of self-control to restrain a function of life that came as naturally as breathing, so she was also not a simpleton.  Perhaps the inability to classify her is what irked their master of spies so much.

The door opened before Cullen could respond, and the two Dalish tiredly entered.  They were as night and day, the Herald bold where the other was timid.  Thenera strode, fiery-eyed despite the wilt of travel, to the war table.  Lalen stood back, hands clasped nervously around the pommel of her sword.

“Have you met our diplomat, Lady Montilyet?” he asked.

“ _ Andaran atishan _ ,” Josephine said with a polite smile. She beamed.  “It’s Josephine.  Josie, if you like.”

“You know elvish?” Thenera asked, eyes widening in curiousity.

“You’ve just heard the extent of it, I’m afraid.” Josephine shifted nervously.

Thenera grinned. “ _ Ma serannas,  _ my lady. I appreciate the gesture.”

Lalen did not even seem to hear the words as she fixed her gaze on the stone floor.  Cullen cleared his throat as Thenera continued to read through the missives and assorted notes handed to her, unaware of her friend’s uncomfortable shifting.

“Josie wrote to us, if you remember,” Thenera explained to her clanmate. “Our Orlesian political coach.”

Lalen smiled at her.  It was not fake, but it was afraid.  Her big eyes were flicking from the floor to Cullen’s blade.  He tried to casually remove his hand from where it rested unconsciously around the hilt.

“On the subject of which,” the Herald continued, “I believe all of Orlais thinks Lalen is the Herald.  That includes Lord Seeker Lucius.  Will that be an issue?”

“People remember what they want to remember,” Leliana said.  “If we introduce you as the Herald, they will question their own memories.  Especially if Madame de Fer is the one making the introductions.  You said she suspected you were the Herald?”

“She didn’t suspect,” Thenera replied. “She knew. It would have been poor form to send the one hope Thedas had into a lion’s den without subterfuge.” She chewed on her lip absently. “Vivienne will make things easier in dealing with Orlais, I think. What with her connections to the Imperial Court and all. With Josephine’s help, I’m sure we can make use of any information Madame de Fer passes our way.”

“So you trust her?” came the response.  A calculated question.

Thenera shifted, clearly annoyed by Leliana’s insinuation.  She spoke smoothly, though, annoyance buried between pleasant diplomacy.  “If there were any I’m concerned about, it’s the Friends of Red Jenny. I’ve never heard of them, but Varric didn’t seem too worried. Sera said something along the lines of being able to give us contacts. Servants, merchants, things of that nature. At this point, I don’t see how we can turn down any help. If anyone proves to be a problem, I won’t hesitate to ask them to leave.”

“Well, the Warden you recruited has proven his value several times already,” Cullen offered.  “With his help, we were able to push west to the Redcliffe's farms.  Master Dennet took some convincing, but we should have his herds within the week.  We’ll have Ferelden's best stock at our disposal.”

“We are trying to map out rift locations for you, and the horses will do a great deal to help the scouts with that,” Leliana said.  “We’ll see that you and your companions are outfitted with mounts as well so you have more freedom.  Unfortunately, that brings up the matter at hand.  We have no idea how Fiona managed to escape Redcliff to pose the invitation...my scouts still can’t get through.”

“Most of our forces are scattered across the area to provide support against the rifts still open and the residual mage-templar combat,” Cullen admitted.  “Casualties will be steep no matter what we do.”

Thenera turned towards the closed door, as if able to see past it to the courtyard.  “Lucky there’s an emissary for a mercenary group out front, then,” she said with a wry smile.  “I guess we should hear his offer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to make up for lost time. This is not an edited draft, so my apologies if you find it lackluster.


	22. Context

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An altercation outside brings past insecurities to the forefront. Thenera wonders about being named Herald of a religion she does not follow or agree with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It has been a year of little more than chaos. Yes, the mages voted to dissolve the Circle of Magi—but I will point out: this vote came only after increased restrictions were placed on them following the unfortunate events in Kirkwall. What other choice did they have? Yes, the Templar Order abandoned their duties and elected to pursue the mages to bring them back in line—but after a thousand years in which their sole role was the mages' keepers, what else could one expect? They envisioned the war over quickly; a single battle that would see the mages' resolve crumble, after which they would meekly return to confinement. That did not happen. This conflict could drag on forever, with advantage on neither side. Both templars and mages see this, and thus they have agreed to come to the Conclave._
> 
> _This is our chance. Words need to be said which have not been said; a compromise must be reached because there is no other choice. I believe this with all my heart. I am not without fault in all this; perhaps I pushed too hard for reform, or not hard enough. The Maker has seen fit to give me another chance; I will not squander it. The Temple of Sacred Ashes is where together we will make history, and with luck we will be remembered kindly for it._
> 
> —From the journals of Divine Justinia V, Dragon 9:41

Stepping outside, they ran straight into an altercation. Two groups of around twenty gathered on either side of the entrance to the Chantry. Templar armor represented one side and Circle robes the other. Another crowd of villagers lay just within earshot. Varric and Solas milled around the edges, watching the proceedings warily. From the looks on their faces, whatever this was about would not be pleasant. 

“Magic will be to blame for this, mark my words!” a templar shouted. “Your kind are always the cause for chaos!”

_ Not pleasant at all.  _ The color drained from Thenera’s face. The urge to step forward nearly overwhelmed her, but years of avoiding mage hunters made her hesitate. Lalen’s words sprung to mind.  _ Silent, unseen. _

“That may be true.” Thankfully, a man in ragged robes and clutching a worn staff stepped forward in her place. “But if so, where were the templars?” He all but towered over the shorter man. “Why did  _ your  _ kind not protect her?”

Blame, once fixated squarely upon the Herald but now without focus. One thing after another, a chain reaction. Cause and effect. Fear turned to anger, which lead to horrible mistakes. There were scandalized gasps all around as Lalen shifted uncomfortably next to Thenera. She felt a familiar stab of anxiety. Would interfering shift their anger back to her? Templars bustled, murmuring angrily while the mages hissed in displeasure. Both groups were made up mostly of humans, with a few Fereldan elves mixed within the group of mages.

Lalen tugged insistently on Thenera’s arm, urging her back towards their cabin. She took her friend’s hand and shook her head. Fleeing would do nothing other than foster suspicion of their intentions. It could be twisted into guilt rather than simple fear. The urge to intercede was strong, but paranoia had set in.  _ What would it take for them to turn on her again? _ Thenera glanced towards Cullen as he stepped through the Chantry doors. He used to be one of them. Did he share his former order’s views? In the span of a few frantic heartbeats, tension rose to a near breaking point when shouting from both sides began. When the templar unsheathed his sword, Cullen placed himself between the two men without hesitation. 

“That's enough!” He pushed the blade aside. 

The man looked up in shock. “K-Knight Captain!”

“That is no longer my title,” Cullen snarled. “We are no longer templars, bound by Chantry rule. We are members of the Inquisition.” He glared at both of the men. “We are  _ all _ part of the Inquisition!”

Some of the villagers looked to her for guidance while others glanced at Commander Cullen. These were the same people who had spat in Thenera’s face, cursed her, and howled for her execution without fair trial. To make matters worse, Roderick appeared and immediately undermined the Commander’s peacekeeping efforts. There was a tense moment where she thought the two groups may come to blows regardless, before another stern command from Cullen. Finally, the templars seemed appropriately chastened and slunk away while the mages slowly dispersed. Distrustful glares were exchanged on both sides, no clear resolution gained. But a reluctant, grudging stalemate, for the moment. Slowly the villagers followed suit, slinking back to their various corners. Confused muttering followed in their wake. 

Thenera breathed a sigh of relief.  _ No angry mob, at least.  _ She glanced back over at Roderick, seething with rage.   _ Just one agitated Chantry clerk. _

She thought that was far more manageable.

Solas made himself scarce when the shouting had started, but Varric stayed until the end. The dwarf met Thenera’s eyes and gestured toward the tavern. While she read bits and pieces about the Kirkwall Rebellion during her travels, it was all horribly dramatic. Blood magic ran rampant throughout city streets that caused templar overreach and abuses. Context was crucial, but third hand rumors and an overly dramatic book were utterly lacking. She wanted to hear about it from someone who was there. 

Commander Cullen had been present, although she suspected his perspective would be colored in favor of the templars. Varric Tethras, on the other hand, seemed far more objective. The dwarf was always eager to share stories, especially about the Champion of Kirkwall. His Tale of the Champion was widely regarded as the most entertaining retelling of Marian Hawke’s adventures. Considering they travelled together, Varric was the best source of all. She found him leaning against the tavern, tending to Bianca. The elf settled onto a nearby crate, legs dangling off the edges.

_ The dwarf is eerily perceptive, _ Lalen had warned her one night.  _ He peels back lies and omissions through barbed questions. But he means well, I think. _

“Expecting trouble?” she asked glibly.

“Last time I saw a confrontation like that, it didn’t end well.” The dwarf’s thick but nimble fingers pressed down and the haft fell forward. “Besides, it’s better to be too prepared than underprepared.” A greased cloth wiped inside quickly before the device was snapped back into place. “Thankfully, it looks like Curly’s got it under control for the time being. But we’ll have to pick a side eventually.”

“Pick a side?” Thenera tilted her head.

“Mages or templars,” came the gruff response. “Always boils down to one side or the other eventually. All things considered, I think I have a pretty good idea which way we’ll be headed.” Varric chuckled. “Blondie’s not gonna believe this. Or Daisy, for that matter. I’m not sure I believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That a Dalish apostate was named Andraste’s Herald,” Varric replied. He shook his head. “Said Dalish apostate went on to be a founding member of the new Inquisition and leader of the faithful. Never mind that you may be uniting mages and templars together for the common good for once. Most people would have spread that out over a few years, at least.” His humor faded, attention returning to the machine in his hands. Another quick movement had pieces from the grip shifting aside. “And now another ragtag group of outcasts are supposed to save the world.” Varric chuckled. “A single city was hard enough.”

Thenera inclined her head towards the Chantry. “Was that how things were in Kirkwall?” 

“Worse.” Varric oiled gears nestled within the wooden husk of the crossbow. “Knight Commander Meredith stoked the flames of rebellion by openly flaunting her power. Tranquil were being churned out in record numbers, to the point where even King Alistair started accepting Gallows refugees.” Snapping the piece back into place he set Bianca aside. “Even if a particular building in the middle of town didn't explode at the worst possible moment, things were well on their way to coming to a head.” He looked back up at her and smirked. “Then again, the Conclave blowing up  _ was _ a bit worse than a single Chantry.”

“Definitely on a greater scale.” One figurehead of moderate importance versus the literal embodiment of the Maker’s will? And all those who could have replaced her? “It's not much of a comparison.”

The dwarf nodded, wiping his hands off with a cloth. Shadows of memory touched his amber eyes. 

“So...how’re you holding up?” Varric asked. He cleared his throat. “It’s been a hell of a few months.”

“As best I can,” Thenera replied honestly. Keeping her guard up in front of Cassandra and other remnants of the Chantry had taken its toll. Her shoulders sagged. “Too many people are dead and the Void seems eager to swallow the world.”

“I’m starting to think chaos is the natural order of things,” the dwarf said. He leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest. “Here’s to hoping you and Hero figure out a way to get our asses out of the fire.”

Thenera hopped off the crate with a laugh. “Step one: don’t get executed by the humans for being a heretic.”

“It’s only a matter of time until the rumors start you know.” Varric grinned. “Just keep your head down and don’t hold crazy blood magic rituals outside camp.”

“I’ll try to contain myself,” she quipped on her way past him. “I’ll talk to you later, Varric.”

“Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the lapse in updates again. Work's been a bit nuts the last few weeks. Hope you enjoy!  
> -Aleanbh


	23. The Horsemaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Horsemaster arrives, and I solve writer's block with unnecessary conflict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never seen a proud rider atop a regal mount? That's your failing. Such animals are common enough, but there're costs, so you keep them away from chance of blight, theft, attack. All the nonsense that makes for poor stabling. These aren't working beasts, with the fire bred out of their eyes so they can suffer a plow. These creatures are about spirit. A proper mount isn't some noble's plaything on a hunt, it's your everyday, and you'd better match it to deserve it. 
> 
> \- A Horsemaster's Notes on Mounts

The Storm Coast was easily a week away, even with a small Inquisition presence in the area lowering the need for supplies and men.  Vivienne demanded a full contingent of soldiers to travel with them, although when asked her motives she supplied only, “Because I like the way they look, my dear.”  “I don’t trust mercenaries” would have been just as easy of an answer, but who was Lalen to say how “The Game” should be played.   _ She was just a lowly Dalish. _

Lalen’s job in Clan Lavellan had been mostly to help look after the halla.  She felt no particularly strong draw to the animals, but she found her anxious energy relaxed as she returned to familiar work the morning they were meant to leave.  The other stable hands took no note of her arrival.

Master Dennet had taken great care in the treatment of his horses.  Their journey from the Hinterlands had not left them weary, but they still needed care before leaving for the Storm Coast.  Their hooves in particular needed extra effort that Halla did not - she had learned the basics Tevinter - but she had no true experience and so avoided that particular task.  The more routine tasks were mucking stables and helping particularly laden stable hands to carry tack.

After a short time, it became clear which would be the Herald’s horse.  Everyone seemed particularly reverent around it and much discussion was given to whether Thenera would wish to ride bareback or saddled.  When they finally agreed to send a runner and save the horse for last, Lalen put her shovel down and approached it.

It was a mare with a lighter colored coat than the rest, chosen perhaps to further cement Thenera’s standing as Andraste’s chosen.  The beast looked straight at Lalen as she entered the stall.  Halla tended to feel comfortable around her sluggish movements, but with no way to call out to them, there was always a risk of spooking one into kicking.  Her fingers locked into the mare’s fur as she moved into the stall.

_ You will be marked, just as she is.  Special, just due to who you carry on your back.   _ The creature remained calm, not understanding the problems of so-called civilization.  _ I hope it raises you up instead of making you a target. _

Lalen laid her head on the mare’s side.  Warm and soft.  The fur was not coarse as the hallas’ often were.  Familiar smells - even if it was that of manure and old grass - took her to a place of serenity.

“You there!  What are you doing with the Herald’s horse?”

...And the moment ended.  Lalen turned in time to see a large human just as he grabbed her arm and tugged her out of the stall.  He was an older stablehand - possibly one of Dennet's as she had never seen him before.

“I asked you a question,  _ elf. _ ”

She began to make the gesture to tell him she was mute, but he was on edge.  As her arm lifted, he took a step back.

“That some kind of blood magic?  Is this some trick to get rid of the Herald?”  His voice rose, and so did his aggression level, until Lalen was backing away and the man was swinging.  “Answer me you blighted knife-ear!”

She hit the ground, face aching where his fist had driven into her.  She saw stars and heard the sounds of pandemonium breaking out at the phrase “blood mage”.  Someone was calling for templars, horses were beginning to panic, and at the middle of it all --

“What’s the meaning of all this?” came the Horsemaster’s voice.  Blackwall was at his shoulder, but he moved forward to Lalen as the small crowd parted.

“I found this knife-ear-”

“This is the Herald’s clanmate,” Blackwall interrupted, lifting Lalen to her feet.  “Think very carefully about the rest of your story.”

He ran his fingertip over her jaw before turning to the human who had begun the fight.  The sounds of the horses settling were all that could be heard a mere moments after the chaos had begun.

“She...she was doing something with the Herald’s mount.”  The human kept his voice even.  There was no doubt to his story.  “I thought she was a servant, but she didn’t say anything.  Then she was gesturing.  I thought maybe...blood magic.”

“She’s mute, boy,” Blackwall snapped.  “And where do you get off using that sort of language?  Knife-ear.  Maker’s balls, the stupidity here.  Don’t think the Herald won’t hear about this.”

Lalen grabbed his tunic as he turned to leave, begging him not to carry the story along.

“Nice show,” said Varric, catching the two as Blackwall marched and Lalen impeded.  “Too bad I already gave the name Hero away.  I can see the name suits you.  I guess ‘Warden’ will have to do.  Unless you’re fond of Killer.”

Blackwall halted his march, and looked sidewise at the dwarf.  His face had gone more sour than usual.

The dwarf seemed to take the point and held up his hands defensively.  “Hey, I wasn’t implying anything.  We’ll stick with Warden.”

Blackwall abruptly turned to Lalen, who still had hold of his arm.  “Listen, girl, I don’t understand your gesturing.  I don’t know what you want from me.”  There was a lot more agitation in his voice now.  Perhaps the attention had flustered him....there was something quite private about the way he moved and spoke.

“She doesn’t want you to tell the Herald about that.”

“There’s a bruise on her face,” Blackwall growled, “but this isn’t even about her.  That man struck an elf - or a mage unprovoked.  Who’s to say it hasn’t happened before - or won’t happen again?  Man like that doesn’t change his colors because he got caught.”

Varric looked expectantly toward Lalen, half smile already forming.  She returned the look, silently pleading with him to intervene.

“I’m sorry, but I agree with the Warden,” Varric said.  “This isn’t exactly about you.  Anyway, that many witnesses...she’s going to find out.  We can keep the next focused attack from her, deal?”

Lalen threw up her hands in annoyance and headed back to the stables.  Maybe it was for the best.

Master Dennet caught her on the way in.  She had not seen him before, but despite the Redcliffe accent, he looked Rivani.

“You’ve done enough,” he said with a kind smile.  “You have other duties.  Leave the stables to the stable hands.”  He pushed a bottle that appeared to contain wine into her hands.  “For your time and your trouble.  It’s an Orlesian gimmick of some kind.  Should fetch a decent amount with the merchants.”

Lalen stared down at the bottle.  Nobody had given her a gift before.  Thenera had given her clothing, and the Inquisition had given her armor, but that was all meant to help her blend in better.  This was...useless.  A true gift.  With some measure of shock, she realized her eyes were welling up with tears, and she left the stables with her head now bowed to hide them.

She could not read the label, of course, but the bottle felt good in her hands.  Its shape fit long fingers, and the glass was smooth and virtually free from blemishes.  Inside the liquid, a small object drifted - trapped.  Barely able to contain her excitement, Lalen pulled her bag from her back, wrapped the bottle in her bedroll, and stowed the lot carefully away.  The Storm Coast was a priority, but the road there would be long.  Someone was bound to get bored enough to read her bottle.  Thenera, or Varric.   _ Varric.   _ She still owed the dwarf a drink.

Did Orlesian wine count?


End file.
